


Love Where it Wasn't Supposed to Be

by backwards_silver



Category: Homeland
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Carrie blackmails Dar, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Frannie is adorable, Hurt/Comfort, Quinn + Frannie, Quinn and babies is freaking cute, Quinn goes on the mission but comes home, Reunions, injuries, season 4 ending reimagined, these two have some conversations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:20:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backwards_silver/pseuds/backwards_silver
Summary: This is post-season 4 re-imagined. In this, Carrie manages to successfully blackmail Dar, Saul is not a traitor, Quinn comes back home after two missions, and the aftermath of what happens when they see each other again. Navigating the domestic normalcy of life without a life-risking mission around every bend is something I've always wanted to see Quinn and Carrie do, so I fixed the ending of season 4 to show what I imagine would have happened between them.
Relationships: Carrie Mathison & Maggie Mathison, Carrie Mathison & Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison/Frannie Mathison, Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn
Comments: 148
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SHAZAM.  
> We're off, I'll be posting short chapters, but I have several in reserve, so I'm going to do two today, and more in the next couple days. Let me know what you think! I love, love, love getting your feedback! It's been so awesome discussing C/Q with you all, and reading all your amazing fics. 
> 
> Question of the day: How old do you think Quinn is?  
> In his s4 psych eval, he said he'd controlled himself for 12 years, and in s5, Dar says he found him at 16.

Carrie storms up to the door, ringing the doorbell, barely waiting for the ring to sound before pressing a second time. Dar looks bewildered when he opens the door, then annoyed. “A call back would’ve been nice.” She glares. He looks unimpressed, “You were the one who was supposed to be in touch with me after you heard from Peter.” He says pointedly. She wastes no time, who fucking cares what Dar told her when he visited last. For all she cared he could stay in the dark forever, any co-conspirator of Haqqani’s was the enemy to her. If not for needing to see Quinn she likely wouldn’t have to spoken to Dar ever again. “Where is he?” He glanced around skeptically before moving inside, “Not out here.”

She wouldn’t be deflected, “Where is he?” She asked again. “I’d imagine somewhere on the Turkish border by now, about to cross over into Syria.” She ignored the implications of that fact. Fucking Syria. Holy shit. “I need to speak to him.”

“Impossible.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” She snapped.

“Hey!” He cut in.

“If he’s on a mission there’s a way to reach him.” She was practically fuming now. He was nonplussed, “Actually, there’s not. They went dark a little over an hour ago. I was just on the phone to ops four.”

“When do they check in next?” She tried not to waver, tried not to think about the fact that Quinn was thousands of miles away and she couldn’t reach him. Fuck that.

“They don’t.” He replied. She felt frozen, “What do you mean?”

“The mission is open-ended, they’re responsible for their own extraction.”

She scoffed, “From Syria?” How the hell was that going to happen? He might as well have said they were going to Mars. What kind of mission was this, did Dar send his men to their deaths on a regular basis?

“From Iraq most likely.” He still wasn’t baited. She wanted to smack the dismissive look off his face, tell him she was fucking serious.

She stood a little taller, no way she was backing down that easily. “I need to speak to Quinn.” Every word enunciated, like she was speaking to a child. He glared back, “And I said no.” So that’s what this would be, a fucking power trip. Fine, she could play this too.

“I saw you in Islamabad." She started, voice thick with distrust, "In the backseat of an SUV with Hassaim Haqqani.” His eyes squinted in suspicion, “What are you playing at, Carrie?”

“I call it, give me what I fucking want!” She snapped. “You’re not listening, I can’t!” He snarled back.

“I will leave here and go straight to the Washington Post.” She told him, challenge evident in her tone. Not a beat missed, “No you won’t.” Disbelief clear on his face.

“Watch me.” Clearly he didn’t know her very well, if he thought she’d step back because he said no. If he thought she wouldn’t follow through on her threats. She got Lockhart to give her Islamabad, for goodness' sake, kicking and screaming, she got Harris to tell her about Sandy, and then she strong-armed Quinn into coming back to Islamabad, stood next to his fucking bomb and made him stop his one-man suicide/revenge mission. And now Dar thought she’d stand by and watch while Quinn disappeared into the worst of desert shitholes for a mission he may not even come back from, all because he told her there was no way to reach him and she just needed to get over it?

Yeah, fuck that. He didn’t know her at all.

“You might consider talking to Saul before you do. He’d explain to you what’s at stake here.” Dar sounded so damn self-righteous. Like Carrie was just an impertinent little girl who needed to be told what to do. Like John at the beginning of her time as station chief, telling her ‘young lady, let’s have a chat’. Not a chance. “I know what’s at stake. You make a deal with Haqqani, you dishonor every officer, ever soldier at the embassy who died at his hands.” Her voice was shaky near the end, so many lives lost. And now Quinn, lost to her. After she’d tried so desperately not to lose him. She couldn’t lose him.

“Saul would spit in your face.” She snarled. She could hardly bear to look at the man herself. Dar’s eyes narrowed once more, feeling out just how much stake he had in this, how far she was willing to go. Pretty fucking far was the answer. As far as it took.

“So? What’s it gonna be?” She snapped, hands finding their way to her hips, stance tense and ready for the fight. He didn’t answer, staring at her in that way that said he was going to wait till the very last second. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“There’s nothing I can do, Carrie, you know that.” He would try to squeeze that line for all it was worth but she’d heard it all before. There was always a way.

“Don’t fucking say that. Else I’m walking out this door right now, and you’ll be in the middle of an international scandal in a matter of days.” She gave him a few seconds before turning on her heel furiously, storming towards the door. “Fine.” She said, but she only got a few feet from him before he growled, “Stop!”

She whirled around to look at him, fire oozing through every vein in her body. This was no fucking joke anymore. Try to stand between her and someone she cared about and she’d tear him apart.

“The 663rd.” He says, “It’s where the team will be if they make it back.” The disgust in evident in his eyes, anger at having lost the battle. She bristles at his word choice.

“When he makes it back. And when they contact, I better be the first to hear about it.” Her gaze is ice, sharper than he’s seen from her before. He’s no match for this side of her, but he would never admit it. “All these games will come back to bite you someday, Carrie.” The intention behind his words is clear, a warning evident in his tone. She doesn’t take the bait. “Yeah, well, when that day comes, I sure as hell won’t be running to you.” She bites, and he just glares. “Close the door on your way out.”

She’s almost to the door when she stops and turns around, needing to get out one last point. “Those people that died in Islamabad, I hope your remember them every time you think about your fucking deal. They gave their lives in the service of this country and that’s how you repay them? Bullshit.” She slams the door behind her with one last, slightly satisfying, look at the indignation on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is named after the song “I Found” by Amber Run, which is SUCH a heartfelt song, I love it to my very core. There’s a C/Q fan video set to the song as well, do yourself a favor and watch it! ♥️


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The things going through Quinn's mind after he boards that plane in 4x12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love thinking about the things that went through Quinn's mind after that kiss against his car. Being in love is a crazy, all-consuming, hard-to-shake thing, and the amount of uncertainty and distraction Carrie treated it with must've been extremely disheartening, considering how long he'd loved her and how long he'd waited to make a move. That feeling of dumb detachment you feel after you've been hurt or had a long cry is what I imagine he probably felt when he went on that mission, but he had a job to do, and knowing Quinn, he probably did he best to lock those thoughts away and get shit done like the soldier he was.
> 
> As always, please leave your thoughts and critiques for me! I'm open to discussion about these two, always!

Quinn takes his seat at the back of the plane, away from all the chatter, bickering and harassing of the rest of the team. He's just tired, no way around it. Plain fucking exhausted, like he hasn't slept in months. Which is almost true. He hasn't had a good night's sleep in a long time, but it's almost par for the course by now, occupational hazards. He knows he won't sleep on the flight, soon enough he'll absorb the anticipation and adrenaline of the rest of the team and he'll be back in business mode, ready to get shit done and zone out to the rest of the world.

But for now, he's wrung out, too many fucked up things have happened in a short span of time and it's piled up like a giant cloud over him. He knows the other guys can probably sense it, another reason why he's banking his time on the flight to get himself together for the mission, so he doesn't bring anyone down or fuck anything up. He's intentionally trying to avoid thinking about Carrie at all, it's not a good road to go down, nothing helpful to see there.

Whatever hope he'd stored away deep down for the last two years was effectively extinguished, now it served as a bitter memory, a reminder of how stupid he'd been. He known, oh he'd fucking known, how dangerous it was to get attached. Not just because of the line of work they were in, but because it was Carrie. And he'd shoved those feelings, those thoughts, that faraway dream where they could actually work away in the most secure part of his mind for a long time. Reminding himself that it wasn't wise, that she was still in love with another man, or the idea of him. Reminding himself that she didn't know how to put others first, that it was just her nature to blaze through life with single-minded focus on her mission, her goal, and if that goal was Brody, no one else existed.

But finally, it seemed like things might actually align, like she might honestly care about him even just a fraction of the way he cared for her. And they'd kissed and it could've been perfect and the night could've ended, just a kiss under the fucking stars like a romantic movie for saps. How absurdly simple that would've been. But of course not. He'd taken a risk and showed his hand, or a bit of his hand. He didn't talk feelings, that wasn't their way. Instead he talked about the future, something she could get on board with. The future was what she lived for, always onto the next thing. But she'd been so unsure, so he respected that, she could mull it over, make her decision, and he'd go about things in the meantime like he always did after a posting.

And then.... _Missouri_. Like a smack in the face, Maggie had told him she wasn't home when he'd come by to invite her to lunch, or just to see her, rather. Even hanging out with Carrie and Franny for an afternoon, washing dishes and walking the park sounded like a damn good way to spend the day, he didn't expect anything grand, just to see her. But she'd up and hit the road, driven nearly fourteen hours through the night, and wound up on her own self-imposed mission without a word of her plan. He was...blindsided to say the least. It was certainly the first time a woman had crossed half the country overnight when he'd kissed her for the first time.

And he'd held out hope, maybe she was just being Carrie, random impulsive things were her style, ingrained in her, and he could deal with that. So he did his thing, refused to panic, figuring he could offer to fly out, even just to be there for her, losing her dad and seeing her mom again in the span of a few days had to be a lot. But Rob fucked with those plans massively by coming by at exactly the wrong time, throwing a layer of guilt on him to stack up with all the rest after Islamabad, casting another knife of doubt into his thoughts about the future.

Sandy's death, the mass murder of so many of his colleagues, Saul's capture, all of it combined with the thought of sitting on his ass at home, waiting for an answer he wasn't sure would come, while his men risked their lives for their country was unbearable. He wanted a future with Carrie, that was a given, something so valuable, so precious he could leave all this behind. But if not....what was the point? Why waste his skills, the only life he'd ever known, waiting for something she didn't want? The conversation from the night before played over and over in his mind after Rob left, until he finally decided to call her.

That phone call wouldn't leave his head as he stared out the window of the jet, into the black sky. He kept hearing her words over and over again, _"I'm no good for you, or anyone else for that matter."_ He wished he would've told she would always be enough for him. More than enough. But he was pretty sure it wouldn't have mattered much. He didn't know what she'd think when she found out he was gone. In a few days' time, when she decided to call him, she'd learn his number was disconnected and put the pieces together pretty fast. He figured she'd be pissed at first, never one to be okay with not having the last word. Then, he was certain she'd get over it. Probably, she'd be grateful not to have the weight of making any big decisions, eventually they'd both come to the same conclusion that it was a long shot all along. He knew he wouldn't just stop caring, stop loving her, as stupid and ridiculous as it was, as much as it hurt, he'd tried before and it never worked so it likely wouldn't be any easier now.

 _Fucking hell_ , it hurt, more than anything he'd felt in a long time. Like a burning ache that slowly eats you up until you're empty inside again, back to the numbness that comes with self-protection. _It ends badly...until it doesn't._ But this wasn't one of those times. It hurts badly, _until it doesn't_. And when that time comes, nothing hurts anymore. The ache is dull and somehow worse than before, but it's possible to ignore, more easily shoved away.

Somewhere along the way he saw the horizon become lit with the faintest sliver of red and orange, beautiful, if you cared about that sort of thing. To him, it seemed rather ironic, a laugh in the face, maybe. _Fuck you, too._ The silver lining of the clouds, the light on the horizon...He wanted to scream, or laugh, or cry, but none of those were viable options, none of them things he did. They wouldn't help anything, anyway. Instead, his vice of choice was work. He soaked in the purpose that ran through the team, a feeling he was well-acquainted with. It'd helped him forget many a fucked-up situation in the past and this would be no different.

At approximately five A.M. he joined the rest of the team, ready to step back into this world, the one he knew so well. Ready to be a soldier again, nothing to lose and plenty to be done. The roasting was in full-effect and he was prepared, not fully himself yet but somewhere closer, pulling from his remaining reserves to be present again. He understood why Carrie stood behind her missions so much, it was far safer, more rewarding, the chase was a high and the victory was a low, until the next one. But it was safe, and it was controllable, you were responsible for yourself and yourself alone, the variables of people and feelings were only manipulated to your benefit. You didn't get too attached, didn't get vulnerable, didn't get hurt.

"Pretty boy, you get any lucky ladies while you've been out slacking off on us?" A voice called from a few rows down. Quinn looked up from the file he was reading, expression unimpressed. "What for?" He replied, deadpan as always. His usual response, nothing more to be said. They'd likely press for more details, especially Rob, and maybe he'd give a few vague, bullshit answers that would soothe their curiosity about his life outside the group the last several months, but there was no point in drudging up the past. Jay raised his glass in agreement with the first, reclining in a window seat with his leg over the armrest, "Tell me 'bout it, he was gone so long I thought he'd ran out on us to play house." He smirked and Quinn just tossed him a glare, his attention back to the mission outline, but he didn't miss the way it felt like a jab to the newly forming stitches. One step forward, two steps back.

"Shut the fuck up, boys, take a hint from the douchebag and get your ass to work, we got shit to do." Rob cut above the nonsense the guys were chatting about and joined Quinn, taking a seat next to him. "You good?" He asked lowly, raising a brow.

"Yeah." And when he thought about it, Quinn could almost convince himself that it would be true.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie, two months later, living a rather domestic life and learning about Quinn's latest mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's question of the day! Do you think that Carrie stayed in the CIA after learning about Saul's deal with Haqqani, or do you think she just up and dipped the minute she left Dar's house?

Two months later...

Carrie was dumping her latest batch of burnt pancakes in the trash when her phone rang on the counter. She swore under her breath, dusting flour of her hands and switching off the stove before the pan started smoking. Franny was overdue for a diaper change and Maggie and the girls would be there any minute for breakfast but the second she saw the name she snatched her phone and answered. "Dar. What happened?" Her heat was racing, she was feeling slightly queasy all of the sudden. It could be bad news or it could be the best. "I heard from the team today." He said, sounding tired and annoyed. She couldn't care less. As long as Quinn wasn't dead she was over the moon to hear from Dar.

"Are they coming back?" She asked, trying her best not to let too much hope rise in her. For all she knew it could be another six months before Quinn's team came back, or they could end up not coming back at all. "They are. But not just yet, there's been some minor complications."

"Complications?" It was one of those words that, coming from Dar, could mean anything from a flat tire to a soldier down. "Did someone get injured? Have they been made?"

"Two soldiers were injured in Aleppo yesterday, it's unconfirmed how bad it is but they're working on an extraction plan until further notice."

She felt stuck in time but it only lasted a second before she registered his words. "Who?"

"Quinn and another team member." Dar sounded reluctant. It was all Carrie could do not to panic but she held her cool. Quinn was injured, but it didn't mean it was lethal, he might've just been grazed. It was a possibility, Carrie told herself, but she knew it was a long shot. "How did he get injured?"

"I'm afraid I don't have that information for you, Carrie." He replied, and Carrie wanted to jump through the phone and shake him by the shoulders. _Than get it, goddamn it._ But he'd already given more information than she'd thought he would and she wasn't about to press her luck. "Fine. Let me know if you get anymore contact. Do you know when they'll be back?"

"If all goes according to plan, they should be arriving within ten days."

She mulled it over, trying to convince herself that it couldn't be that bad if they weren't on an immediate medical transport. "Got it. I've got to go." She hung up and braced herself against the counter, breathing deep as she could muster, not letting the worry cloud her thinking. She'd kill herself if she worried about it too much, thinking he was horribly injured. The best thing she could do for herself was stay calm, stay sane, and wait for more news. Franny's crying upstairs became obvious all of the sudden and she hurried to change her, still bewildered at the way life had taken such a turn for her.

A few months ago it had been a whirlwind of terrorists and betrayal, gunfire and death, Franny was the last thing on her mind and the second she spent time alone with her, she felt the urge to bolt. Absolute terror had flooded every encounter she'd had with Franny for the first few weeks of being home, but she'd gotten used to it over time and now she almost enjoyed it. Almost. She still worked long days at Langley, but in the mornings, nights and weekends, she took over from the babysitter and saw the familiar little face staring back at her.

She was officially a mom and it was the strangest, most terrifying job she'd ever had, yet it was rewarding, too, in a way she didn't expect it to be. Her dad had been right after all, she developed a bond with her daughter, one she didn't think she would. The terror turned into love, she started missing her baby during the day, looking forward to cuddling her at night, making faces and tickling her squirmy little chub, playing with that bold red hair, making her laugh. It was so simple and yet so precious. She was slowing down in a way she'd never done before, taking time to soak in the moments that she'd dreaded before. Time with her family, with her sister, with her kid. It was domestic and foreign but also right. She was still CIA, still 'crazy Carrie' in some ways, but better, more stable. It was amazing the change a few months away from the shit could make.

"Hey, precious," She laughed when she saw Franny's legs waving wildly in her crib, gurgling and having a whole conversation with herself. "Somebody's antsy this morning." She wasn't just talking about Franny though, she was antsy herself. It felt so wrong, to be here in her house with her kid, making brunch on a Sunday, not thinking about any crisises, not worrying about any near-death experiences or traitorous moles (besides Dar, traitorous but useful). She missed the thrill but here, changing Franny's disgusting diaper, dressing her for the day in a ridiculous but cute little matching set that Maggie bought, she felt like she could get used to it.

Everything except worrying about Quinn.

He was there in every little nagging thought at the back of her mind, in all the blank spaces when she wasn't tied up with other things. She was used to being head-to-toe immersed in a thousand things to worry about, so things like personal attachments and feelings were always in the very backseat. She just didn't have time for it. But this was like Brody except even worse. She lived without Brody many times, a few times she even hated him enough that she never wanted to see him again. And she loved him, but she didn't rely on him. Not like she did with Quinn.

She wanted to tell him about all the messed up shit going on in her life, tell him about her mom and how she hated her so much but was relieved to know it was actually possible to have a relationship that lasted when you had this disorder. She wanted to tell him how fucked up it was to learn about your brother for the first time when he was a teenager, how much she was in awe of her dad for never giving away her mom's secret. She just wanted him. Even in the stupid little moments of washing dishes, sitting on the floor of her living room and reading to Franny, doing the laundry for fuck's sake, even in those moments she could imagine him there, someone to trade stories with, to laugh with, someone to tease and argue and then kiss and make up with.

She didn't realize she was smiling until Maggie barged in and interrupted her out of her thoughts. "What's up?" Maggie asked with a raised eyebrow. "Hmm? Nothing." Carrie settled Franny into her highchair and set about getting her breakfast. The girls followed their mom in and immediately set into crowding the kitchen, tasting the food and playing with Franny.

"I made pancakes." Carrie gestured at the stack on the counter, rather oddly shaped pancakes but they would have to do. Kids didn't care what shape their pancakes came in, right? She grabbed maple syrup from the fridge and after second thought pulled out some blueberries, too. Orange juice and coffee rounded out the meal and Maggie looked surprised but pleased. Carrie wanted to roll her eyes, she could manage pancakes for goodness' sake.

"Nice. How's your morning been?" Maggie asked. The girls grabbed plates and started drowning their pancakes in syrup and fruit, adding to the mess that the kitchen already was. Who knew it was so much messier to live a normal civilian life? All of her station quarters were pristine most of the time, considering she was hardly ever in them. "Fine." Carrie said, non-committed, _besides learning that Quinn's injured and I have no idea when or if he'll be back,_ her mind filled in. "Yeah?" Maggie seemed unconvinced but Carrie was in no mood for another discussion about 'getting help'. "You seem a little out of it the last few weeks, is everything okay?"

"I said, I'm fine." Carrie scooped mashed sweet potatoes into Franny's mouth, avoiding Maggie's gaze. "Fine. But you know, things won't get any better if you don't talk about them, Carrie."

The remainder of brunch went smoothly, the girls were hyped up on sugar and ready to start the day, and Carrie was ready to get out of her house and away from the overly concerned nature of her sister. But no such luck, they had a zoo outing planned for the day and both families were going. It was so odd, Carrie had her own little family now. Not a family like she'd imagined or even wanted, but she had someone to call her own. _And hopefully someday she'd have another someone she could call her own._

"You ready to go?" Maggie had Franny's diaper bag over her shoulder and a pink baby sunhat in hand. "Yeah. Did you buy that for Franny?" Carried asked, and Maggie nodded. "I figured she could use one. Plus, it's adorable. Don't you think?" She put it on the baby's head, pink against pale cheeks.

"Why not?" Carrie shrugged, loading Franny into the car. She was torn between being grateful for all of her sister's help and feeling like Maggie was purposefully trying to mother her. Like she couldn't take care of her own child well enough on her own.

The zoo was full of happy little families enjoying their Sunday, little kids screaming and laughing, running around and pointing at the animals, boring their parents with endless questions. Carrie couldn't remember the last time she'd done something so mundane as going to the zoo, probably not since she was a teenager with her dad. She wished her dad could be here with them now, all of his crazy energy and stories, she missed the way he could entertain Franny for hours with all of his wild expressions and voices, reading her books like they had a life of their own.

In the back of her mind, Carrie was wondering about Quinn. As seemed to be her life the last two months. She considered calling Dar again, pressing him for more information but didn't know how much good it would do. She'd hold out a few days, research all of the special ops missions of recent that she could find, and hope for the best. It was foreign, and she hated it, this feeling of helplessness. When she saw Quinn again she was pretty damn sure she'd kiss him and slap him, which one she'd do first would remain to be seen.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the current mission, Quinn's injured and attempting to get to safety with his team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't super long, but I wanted to give a little insight to what Quinn's up to while Carrie's at home. I'm always interested in the way he works with his different colleagues, and it seems like him and Rob have some history, so I imagine they'd be pretty close.
> 
> Question of the day: Do you think Quinn told any of his team mates about Carrie, or any of the people he worked with? Hensleigh seemed to have some idea of there being a 'special relationship' with them, but Quinn doesn't seem like the type to share much about his personal life.

Quinn woke up in the sweltering heat of midday, the stone walls of a partially destroyed house in Aleppo did little to block the sun from bearing down on the soldiers. He’d slept sitting up, leaning against the hard stone wall, trying to avoid the nausea that accompanied laying down. His head was throbbing and his mouth dry, but sleep was welcomed nonetheless. He checked the bandages on his waist for visible blood, only a tiny spot had seeped through, which was a good sign. The bullet wound in his shoulder was likely infected but numb enough that he could ignore it for the time being. He’d made a makeshift sling for his arm with Jameson’s help, to keep his arm stable while they trekked twelve miles on foot to the dilapidated ‘safe house’ they’d been provided coordinates for by an asset in the area. Quinn was nearly passed out by the time they got there, blood loss, limited water, heat and no sleep for 72 hours hadn’t done much to help it. Mason wasn’t doing too well, himself, he’d suffered a pretty major leg wound from shrapnel in the IED blast and it’d severely slowed down his progress when they were walking. He was sleeping a few feet away, on the stone floor, laying on his and Quinn’s rolled up jackets as a pillow, leg propped up on a loose brick.

Quinn could hear talking outside and pushed himself up with his free hand, briefly stopping over Mason to make sure he was still breathing before he made his way outside. The sun was painfully bright and it made his head pound even worse. He was fucking dizzy, he realized.

“Well, look who fucking joined us.” Rob was mapping out their extraction route to the Turkish border, another fucking nightmare of two days on foot until they would reach civilization. “Morning, Miss America.” Jameson acknowledged Quinn, smirking. Quinn rolled his eyes, which turned out to be a bad idea, made his head hurt even worse. “Fuck you too.” He replied, “You guys made any actual progress?” The plan was to get back to Aleppo and cross over using the Bab al-Hawa crossing to get into Turkey. The only setback now was finding a guide to get across the border unhindered by security checks.

“We have some friendlies in the area, Khalif Nazari, he’s our guy. He’s five klicks south of the border, got a shitton of contacts in the government, already been paid in full, we should be smooth sailing as soon as we get there.” Rob assessed. Marqus joined them at that moment, back from scoping out the terrain, checking for any hostiles in the area. The team was down to six men now, the other half of the team had been sent back already, after the mission was completed.

The three IS targets had been taken out without a hitch the month before, a quick in and out, no men lost, no one injured. Quinn had considered peacing out after that, heading home before he could reconsider that decision. But within a week he’d been roped into another mission, this time with higher stakes, less men, limited support in the area, and an unknown ground route. Quinn and Rob had made it into the commander’s house, killed the four men they were supposed to take out, along with five guards along the way, and gotten out almost unscathed except for an unseen sniper’s round hitting Quinn in the shoulder and grazing Rob’s forehead. The team had packed up and moved out in record time, only for their vehicle to hit an IED en route to the safe house. They’d made it out alive, Quinn got hit by shrapnel in the waist, two pieces lodging in the skin of his upper hip in the explosion and a large gash across his midsection from the warped metal of the truck. Mason took a hit to the back of his leg, both men requiring emergency operation by the field medic. The others had suffered minor burns and scratches but nothing major. The biggest downfall besides the injuries was the lack of a usable vehicle, tripling the time it would take for them to get to safety, and putting Quinn and Mason through the ringer, in danger of losing consciousness or worse on the journey. Now, the only goal on anyone’s mind was getting back over the border without losing any men or anyone else getting injured.

“Where’s Derrick?” Rob asked Marqus, they’d gone out in a team to surveil the area. “He’s inside, checking Mason’s bandages.” Marqus replied. Derrick was the field medic, Quinn liked him, Derrick was fairly quiet and calm, the two of them made up the least talkative guys in the group. “Good, when he’s done we’ll ship out. How ‘bout you, douchebag? You alright?” Rob asked, gesturing to Quinn. Quinn nodded, as long as he got some water in and as much food as he could manage without throwing up again, he’d be able to keep on for a while. He’d gotten five hours of sleep since they got to the safe house and it felt amazing after going three days without it. He’d be fine for another twenty-four hours or so, beyond that, the infection from the bullet wound would likely take over and he’d be feeling like complete shit.

“Alright, boys, let’s hit the road, then.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie gets a middle of the night phone call from Dar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imagining Carrie in the wee morning hours or late at night is so interesting to me. In 4x12, when she gets up in the middle of the night and looks at her father's photos, I'd love to have been in her mind. ❤️ 
> 
> Question of the day: When do you think Carrie first realized her feeling for Quinn?
> 
> Also, I ALWAYS love feedback from you all! IT'S THE BEST!

Carrie tossed and turned in her bed, she couldn’t sleep, it was too hot and stuffy in her room, she was uncomfortable, the room too quiet. She groaned and flipped on her back to stare at the ceiling. It was 2 A.M. according to the glowing numbers on her clock, but she was wide awake, hadn’t slept a wink all night long. Franny was blissfully in dreamland and Carrie was jealous. The day had been uneventful besides Dar’s call that morning. Carrie and Franny and Maggie’s family had gone to the zoo and then went for ice cream afterwards, taking the scenic route back home and arriving back by dinner time. The house was blissfully quiet when Carrie finally got Franny to bed, everyone else had gone back home, but she’d been unable to settle down. She’d tracked down a frustratingly small amount of information on the current missions in Syria, most of them were inactive due to hostile environments that resulted in loss of life and caused the teams to cut their losses and retreat. It didn’t help her fears at all. She was going crazy with wondering about Quinn and seeing the gruesome reports from Syria didn’t help one bit.

She climbed out of bed and checked on Franny, before sitting down in the recliner next to her crib, watching her sleep and looking through her dad’s old photos and letters, her new pastime since his death. He’d saved so many of Carrie’s own postcards from the various countries she visited, as well as a collection of letters from her mom from when they were dating through college. Those letters made her teary, igniting a mixture of anger and happiness. She tried to remember what her mom said before she left in a hurry, _"It’s possible, please, believe that,"_. She hadn’t forgiven her mom, not by a long shot, but she saw a future she thought impossible before because of the conversation she’d had. Finally hearing things from her mother’s side put her parent’s story into perspective.

It was _possible._ To be happy, to have a life with someone that loved her even with all her fucked up flaws.

She stared out the window into the moonlit night, wondering where Quinn was right that second. She hoped he was safe, wherever he was, probably in the desert heat somewhere in Syria. _Injured_ , her brain helpfully reminded her. _Fuck_. She replayed the day of her father’s funeral in her mind, remembered seeing Quinn standing there out of the corner of her eye, alive and well when she’d been sick with worry about him, unsure whether he’d even make it out of Islamabad alive. She hadn’t even expected that he’d want anything to do with her after the last meeting they’d had, and yet he’d shown up for the funeral, and she’d been so overcome with relief it felt like a thousand pound boulder had been taken off her shoulders. She’d memorized the feeling of that hug, how happy she’d been that day, how right everything felt after such a bad experience overseas. Like he'd said, "Being _home_."

Carrie dragged her comforter off the bed and wrapped up in it, curling back up in the recliner and closing her eyes, drifting into sleep imaging Quinn showing up on her doorstep, alive and well, blue eyes bright and the smallest of smiles on his face when he saw her. She’d hug him and he’d feel like peace, like home.

Carrie slept through the night without waking up a single time, a blessed miracle. It was almost six when Franny woke her up with her cries, and the day was beginning. She made breakfast, bathed Franny, cleaned a bit while she waited for the sitter and then left for work.

In the late afternoon, while Carrie was engrossed in after-action reports, her phone rang. It was Dar again, so she jumped to answer it, not even letting her mind contemplate the worst-case scenario.

“Carrie?” Dar’s voice came over the line. “I’m here.” She answered. “What’s going on?”

“I just received a check-in from the team, as well as information regarding the extent of the injuries the two soldiers suffered.”

“Tell me.” She pressed, worry gnawing at her stomach.

“I’m assuming you’re more concerned with the state of Quinn’s injuries. He took a bullet to the shoulder and severe shrapnel wounds from an IED.” She closed her eyes, swallowing back panic. “How much longer till they’re home?” Her voice was shaky.

“They’ve been on foot for most of the last forty-eight hours but they’ve made it across the Turkish border, so they should be boarding a plane in the next twelve hours.” Dar said.

“Thank fuck.” Carrie muttered, tipping her head back against her chair with a sigh of relief. “Are they still landing at the base?” She asked. There was no doubt about it, she was going to be there when he got home. She’d spent two fucking months worrying about him, waiting for him, she didn’t want to wait another single day.

“I imagine they’ll receive medical treatment in Turkey and take the jet to the base, yes. You’re not planning to travel there, are you?” The tone of voice said he already knew the answer to that.

“Of fucking course I am.” She replied, “You think I’ve been wanting all these updates so I can _sit on my ass_ until he shows up?” She snapped. She could imagine the annoyance on Dar’s face as he ended the call but she couldn’t care less. She was positive Quinn wouldn’t even come to her house when he landed, anyway, another reason she’d go to him, instead. He wasn’t going to avoid her. She was pissed that he’d even gone in the first place but her anger was overwhelmed by her need to see him.

 _'Let me know when that plane takes off.'_ She texted Dar, receiving a curt reply in return. She was sure Dar would want nothing to do with her after all this was over, couldn’t stand being used to someone else’s advantage besides his own, but once she got Quinn back she had no reason to speak to Dar. He could go fuck himself, as far as she was concerned, take his goddamn deal with a terrorist with him.

The rest of the day seemed to fly by, Carrie had an odd spring in her step, like she’d gotten back that fire she’d been missing. She had something to look forward to, she could finally stop feeling so disgustingly helpless. She was deep into sleep when her phone went off with a text at four A.M. Surprisingly true to his word, Dar was letting her know the plane had taken off and would arrive in Virginia at 1600 hours the next day. She fell back asleep with a smile on her face, more peaceful than she’d been in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The world's a little blurry  
> Or maybe it's my eyes  
> The friends I've had to bury  
> They keep me up at night  
> Said I couldn't love someone  
> 'Cause I might break  
> If you're gonna die, not by mistake"
> 
> -billie eilish, ilomilo
> 
> Is it just me or are there so many Billie Eilish songs that relate to these two?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's on the way back home! But pretty uncertain about the future when he gets there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait for these two to see each other again! Argh, I'm on the edge of my seat!!   
> Don't worry, guys, they'll be together soon, I promise! 💖
> 
> Question of the day: Do you think Carrie/Quinn would've gotten together if he had come back from Syria after her and Jonas had already started a relationship?

Quinn slept in fitful bouts through the plane ride. His newly bandaged arm and waist felt a world better from the day before. The slight stinging of the wounds was a millions times more bearable than the utter exhaustion and aching, shaky muscles he’d had the day before. Air conditioning alone was a fucking godsend, he couldn’t get enough of it. The doctors at the Turkish hospital were reluctant to let him leave without staying at least overnight but he couldn’t spend one more second in the fluorescent lights of the hospital, all the overwhelming smells and chemicals, too much noise and chaos. Ultimately, he’d checked himself out as usual, supplied with fresh bandages, antibiotics and painkillers, he’d be fine until he got to the states. The plane ride was nearly twelve hours long, but none of the team was complaining, the men were all unusually quiet, most of them dead tired and wrung out from the last few days.

When the pilot announced impending landing, Quinn felt oddly unsettled. He was glad to be safe, away from the myriad of possible catastrophes that could happen in Syria, but he also felt a bit lost. Some part of him knew he’d be hearing from the group within a month at least, with another mission that he’d be a coward to turn down. He hated it, how easily he was sucked back into the job, the pull of duty and the gaping unknown void of what he’d do if he left always dragged him right back. He wondered if some people just weren’t meant to be normal, he’d sure seen enough of it in this job. So many good men were killed in his line of work, leaving grieving families at home picking up the pieces. It was so bad that many of them just stopped starting families because eventually their spouses would leave them, couldn’t handle the stress. You couldn’t be both, that much was abundantly clear. He’d seen as much with Julia. She didn’t want him anywhere near his son, didn’t want the darkness and danger of his job to affect their life in any way or put her son in danger. He’d understood, still did, this job wasn’t meant for family men. You had to choose, one or the other. And if you were raised into this line of work, more often than not, you died in it, too. Never knowing a future outside of it.

He briefly considered getting in touch with Carrie when he got back, but quickly abandoned the idea, knowing he wouldn’t be around for long and there was no point in drudging up bad memories for what? What would he say to her?

He stifled those thoughts so he could get another twenty minutes of sleep before they landed, whatever the future held, he could figure that out later.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carrie and Quinn FINALLY SEE EACH OTHER AGAIN!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are like an intricate dance, always avoiding each other and yet simultaneously finding and relying on each other every single damn time. I imagine that their relationship would unfold slowly, with a lot of caution on both sides, plus a bit of the classic Carrie reckless impulsiveness that we've come to expect, but in the end, I think they'd find their way, dysfunctional and all.
> 
> Question of the day: Do you think Quinn would make a good dad figure to Franny? I remember Carrie telling baby Franny when she took her to the Brody's old house that Brody would've made a terrible father, do you think Quinn would've been better?

Carrie was pacing the hangar, unable to stop her racing heartbeat, her wandering thoughts. She was all over the place, a whirlwind of emotions. She was present but not here, one thing on her mind and one thing alone. It was a whole lifetime coming to a head in one meeting. She'd run the gamut of every possible emotion in two months and she was spent. The commotion outside signaled that the plane was landing but she couldn't leave the waiting area, roped off into a little section by herself, impatiently waiting. No one else was there, clearly this type of thing wasn't normal. She was half-tempted to duck the ropes and see for herself but she didn't have to wait long. The door from outside opened and light streamed in, along with several tired-looking men dressed in varying shades of black, talking amongst themselves. They each regarded her curiously but she didn't offer an explanation, waiting for only one person.

Quinn was the last to leave the plane and she was crawling out of her skin, waiting for the guys to file in and pass through. When he finally appeared in the doorway she nearly lost it, charging towards him on shaky legs. He was wearing a t-shirt and black jeans, left arm wrapped in a sling, right hand holding his bag. He looked tired, his hair was a bit longer than the last time she'd seen him, eyes not as bright. Still the best sight she'd seen in a long time.

She was fresh off of work, in heels that were making her twice as wobbly, a hasty brush through her hair and reapplication of her lipstick and she'd driven straight to the airframe. The second he saw her he stopped, staring, clearly shocked. She crushed him into a hug, both arms wrapped around him like straightjacket, so tight he couldn't move. He dropped his bag and his free arm came up to meet her, a couple seconds delayed, like he was stuck in time. "Thank fuck." She whispered, voice choked with emotion. She buried her face in his neck, whispering his name like she was trying to convince herself he was real. Tears were streaming down her face, soaking his neck and the top of his shirt. She hadn't expected to lose it this badly but she couldn't keep it in if she'd tried.

"Hey." He said quietly, his arm running soothing strokes up and down her back, still catching up to everything. She realized she was crushing his arm and tried to pull back but she didn't want to.

"Don't you _ever_ fucking do that again." She murmured into his skin, tears evident in her words. "Do what?" He questioned softly, hand still rubbing comfort into her, bringing her back to earth. "Leave without saying goodbye." She said, squeezing his shoulder one last time before finally forcing herself to break away. She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, hand still on his arm, not wanting to let go. She needed to keep him here, until he understood, until he knew that it wasn't going to happen again. She couldn't go through that again.

"Sorry I crushed your arm." She huffed, a half sob-half laugh. He glanced down at the sling, shook his head, "It's fine. Are you okay?" She could see it in his eyes, the concern. Always concerned for her, looking out for her. She'd felt smothered by it at times but right now she wanted to bottle it up, hold it close to her.

"Am _I_ okay? You're the one with the bullet wound." She remarked, raising an eyebrow. "Mm...I guess it's payback for when I shot you." He mused. She smiled but it faded quickly as she look at him, all the memories flooding back. She searched his face, desperate to reach out and touch it, remind herself how close she came to losing him, how much she'd missed him. "I thought you were dead." She admitted hoarsely, shaking her head. "I'm so fucking glad to see you." He was staring at her perplexedly, brow furrowed like he was trying to understand. "You thought I was dead? How did you-?" His voice trailed off, he shook his head imperceptibly, looking awed.

"I blackmailed Dar." She told him, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. If anyone could appreciate it, Quinn could. He huffed a soft laugh, " _No shit_. I bet he was thrilled."

"Something like that." She laughed, sliding her hand down his arm and squeezing his hand tightly, "You ready to go?" She wasn't sure where exactly he was going but she knew she wanted to be with him. Had some ideas of her own.

"Um...yeah. Just a sec." He left to talk with one of the guys about something, an older guy, looked like someone in charge. She picked up bag and followed loosely behind, waiting for him. She didn't want to let him out of her sight.

When he got done, he rounded back to her, slight hesitation in his stance, like he was deciding what to say. She spoke first, "You have somewhere to stay?" He took his bag from her, though she would have carried it, just to make sure he came with. Petty, but it wasn't beneath her at this point.

"Not yet, I'm gonna book a hotel." He said, walking with her to the exit. "You could stay with me," She offered, meeting his gaze, trying not to sound too hopeful. She'd given this a lot of thought since she learned he was on his way back, and right here and now she sure as hell hoped he'd be willing. Who knows how quickly he'd disappear again if she didn't keep tabs on him.

He didn't say anything for a worrying stretch of time and she almost thought he'd say no. Finally he spoke up, "You sure?" She nodded, not a doubt in her mind after how much time she'd spent thinking about it. "I have a guest room," She remembered to add, so as not to scare him away, take some of the pressure away from it. _Friends let friends stay with them all the time, right?_ Even though her and Quinn had passed the stage of just friends long ago. But maybe he still wanted to stay there, in that stage, after how things ended the last time.

"It's just Franny and me, I started renting last month," She continued, trying to fill the silence, not press too much.

"Okay," He finally agreed. She looked over but he wasn't glancing at her.

"Okay." She echoed, stopping in front of her car, gesturing to it, "I can drive, if you want." He glanced across the lot, where a rental car was parked, probably his, one the agency had rented for him. "I'll follow you."

She nodded and watched him cross the parking lot, waiting until he got in to climb into her own. She let out a sigh of relief so heavy it took the wind out of her. He was finally fucking _home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "So, where did you go?  
> I should know, but it's cold  
> And I don't wanna be lonely  
> So tell me you'll come home  
> Even if it's just a lie"
> 
> -ilomilo


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's baaaaack! And staying at Carrie's house, which means all sorts of dysfunctional things could happen....And maybe a few cute moments too ;) These two haven't had NEARLY enough happiness in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love doing these question of the day things, so I'mma keep them. Whilst I bang my head against a wall with accounting classes, ya'll's comments make me smile :)
> 
> Question of the day: Do you think C/Q would've had this DRAMATIC AND WILD reunion complete with the steamy smut scenes worthy of a romance novel? Or do you think it would've been a slow build, after they'd had time to get over some of the initial awkwardness and unsaid things?

Quinn climbed off the plane last, grabbing his bag off the cargo rack and heading for the door. He was back where he'd started, but this time he was ready to collapse into the closest hotel bed and sleep for a week straight.

The moment he stepped through the door he saw it. Blonde hair, pantsuit, hands on hips, a fucking _force to be reckoned with_ no matter what she was doing.

She rushed him so fast he wasn't prepared for it, her arms squeezing him into a tight embrace, telling him how relieved she was through the sheer force of her embrace. He was surprised, to put it mildly, he realized too late that he should be hugging her back and brought his non-injured arm up to surround her back, rubbing it lightly.

It felt so natural, like it was automatic, ingrained in him, his body already trained to meet her in comfort, even when his mind hadn't caught up yet. He was somewhere between disbelieving and overwhelmed. Why was she here? _How_ was she here? She was muttering his name over and over into his neck, teary and shaky, wetting the neckline of his t-shirt. She sounded wrecked and it tore right through his heart. _The fuck had happened to her?_

"Don't you _ever_ fucking do that again." She was mumbling against his shoulder. He was trying to make sense of it all.

"Do what?" In some ways, this Carrie seemed like a stranger. She was so vulnerable, so raw, it broke him. She couldn't possibly be feeling this over him, could she? _No fucking way._

"Leave without saying goodbye." Her voice was hoarse, broken like she was barely keeping it together. She pulled away, eyes boring into his own, wet with tears. Her hand was still wrapped around his arm, wound tight like she couldn't let him go.

"Sorry I crushed your arm," She said sheepishly. He shook his head, hardly concerned about the new ache in his shoulder. It could wait. "It's fine, are you okay?" She was acting so strange. He felt like he was missing something, like something had happened to her that he wasn't aware of.

"Am _I_ okay? You're the one with the bullet wound." She hadn't missed a beat, still evading the real question. "

I guess it's payback for when I shot you," He said, attempting to lighten the concern on her face. She smiled but it faded quickly and he wondered what she was thinking. If she was remembering that moment so long ago like he was, all the shitty moments that brought them to where they were today, a lifetime's worth of strained emotions.

She spoke at last, her voice sounded strained, "I thought you were dead. I'm so fucking glad to see you." His thoughts froze at that. She thought he was dead? Where did she get that impression? How did she even know where he was and what he was doing? How the _fuck_ did she figure out when he was landing? He hadn't had time to piece it all together yet but it was even crazier when he considered it.

"You thought I was dead? How did you-?" He meant to ask how she found him but it died on the tip of his tongue. She was something else.

"I blackmailed Dar," She told him proudly. He couldn't help a small laugh at that, " _No shit_ , I bet he was thrilled." He wasn't at all confused on Dar's feelings towards Carrie. Dar hated her guts, thought she was reckless, impulsive and manipulative. Quinn was inclined to agree that she had her moments of being all of those things but Dar would never truly know the strength Carrie possessed, the magnitude of things she'd accomplished in her life, or why he felt the way he did about her.

"Something like that." She told him, moving her hand to squeeze his, something they'd never done before. It felt right.

"You ready to go?" She asked expectantly and he realized he hadn't even given a single thought to what he was going to do next. Carrie showed up like a tornado and invaded all of his senses, invading his mind until he couldn't think straight. Like a drug that you know is gonna fuck you up but you crave it anyway, can't seem to say no.

"Um... _yeah_ , just a sec." He broke away to clear up some business with Rob, who was waiting with an expectant smirk, eyebrows raised in question.

" _Well, well, well,_ Peter." He said, voice dripping with tease. Quinn gave him a look that said it was none of his business, asking about the debrief instead.

"Tomorrow, 0900 hours, don't miss it. Not even for her." He replied, cocking a nod in Carrie's direction, intention not missed.

"Not even close." Quinn said dryly, nipping the speculation in the bud. "I'll be there." He ended the conversation there, before anyone else joined in the theorizing.

Carrie had followed him with his bag, looking expectantly at him as he made his way back. He wasn't sure where to go from here, what she was expecting, if there was some other reason she'd come in the first place. Maybe some other favor she needed to ask, something she wanted him to do. It was an easier explanation than her just showing up because she cared, because she wanted to see him.

"You have somewhere to stay?" She asked before he could get a word out.

"Not yet, I'm gonna book a hotel." That much he'd thought out, beyond that was anyone's guess.

They were walking to the door when she suggested, "You could stay with me." His mind froze, ice in his veins. His brain was spewing a million reasons why it was a terrible idea, but she looked so fucking hopeful. Staring at him with those goddamn wide eyes, his detriment every single time.

 _Fuck_.

 _"No."_ was at the tip of his tongue. " _Hell no."_ was what his mind was supplying.

But instead he asked, "You sure?" He needed to give her as many outs as possible, time to consider that this was an awful idea, that nothing good could come from it, something he'd already decided long ago. He was fucked, either way. But she didn't need to be.

"I have a guest room," She added like an afterthought and he wanted to choke out a laugh. _Where the hell else would he stay?_

"It's just Franny and me, I started renting last month." She sounded...nervous?

He wasn't used to hearing that side of her, it unsettled him.

"Okay." He said before the silence dragged on any longer.

"Okay." She agreed, smiling at him.

He felt uncomfortable, too exposed with her looking at him like that. It was all wrong, all of this emotion she was showing him. Like he was someone else, someone she _loved_. Brody, perhaps, or a memory of him.

"I can drive if you want," She offered, gesturing to her car. He knew he had a rental here already, briefly considered having no form of transportation when he got back to her house and decided _definitely not_. He wasn't about to rely on her to drive him around, he didn't intend to stay long, anyway.

"I'll follow you," He told her instead and she nodded. He put his bag in the backseat and climbed in, noting the way she waited for him to get in before turning around.

He was overwhelmed, too much to sort through right now. He followed her out of the the parking lot, trying to figure out how this was his life right now. He'd entirely planned on stepping off that plane, driving to the nearest hotel and crashing, getting through his debrief, waiting until his stitches healed, until he was cleared by the agency to go back and then setting off on the next mission, one that was likely being set up right that second.

Quinn followed Carrie as she drove through a little neighborhood not far from her sister's house, where that infamous night had happened, and she slowed down in front of a quaint little one-story, a style that was decidedly not Carrie.

His stomach flipped, recognizing for the first time how out of his element he was. He’d been in Syria for the last two months, in a constant state of fight-or-flight, killing targets and hiding from those that wanted to kill him, burning in the inhospitable desert, while Carrie had been here, building a new life in a little suburban neighborhood with her daughter.

The contrast was ironic, yet it was still _Carrie_ and he knew she was still agency, she was living in some weird limbo between the past she was trying to leave and the future she was starting.

He climbed out of his car and felt the hesitation building, he was tempted to get back in and turn around, drive away and never look back. Maybe convince himself that this was all just a fever dream from his infected wounds, that he was still in the desert somewhere, that Carrie was living her life without him in it at all.

He thought it might be better that way, that both of them would agree this was just some stupid lapse in judgement, it could never last and they were ridiculous for even trying.

But she was looking at him with that terribly _hopeful_ look again and he was dammed before he even started.

So he followed her inside, eyes trailing across the entryway, a few jackets on the coat-rack and the tiniest pair of shoes he’d ever seen. Baby shoes.

It was achingly normal, the life he’d always dreamed of but thought impossible for people like them, and yet somehow she was straddling with one foot inside of it.

“I’m sure you’re probably tired,” She was saying, slipping off her heels and jacket, dropping her keys and purse on the catch-all table. He nodded, taking in her bare feet and sheer comfortableness, something he’d never seen from her, a carefree version of Carrie, almost.

“The guest bedroom’s through here, there’s a bathroom, too.” She led him down the hallway, complete with the customary creaky floorboards, to a room at the end of the hall with a giant window.

The sheer white curtains on the window were doing little to block out the afternoon sun but it made the room look more homey, cheery almost, and he wondered who decorated the house. The bed was neatly made and the room was furnished like she’d been expecting guests. Surely she wasn’t expecting him, right? Or was she? He didn’t dwell on it.

“It’s nice,” He told her honestly, the room and the house in general. Everything about her new life, really. It was nice...Weird and unreal...but nice.

“Pretty domestic, I know.” She said sheepishly, shrugging. She wore this new life like a pair of too-big shoes, like she was a foreigner trying to adjust to a new country. She fit in everywhere she went, around the globe to country after country, never afraid of the new surroundings, taking everything in stride, but _this_ , it was a whole new side of her.

“Franny will be here in a bit, her babysitter’s dropping her off. I’ll go start some dinner, if you’re hungry.” She sounded a bit hesitant so he nodded, attempted something of a smile, even though it felt unnatural.

“Got it. And, thank you.”

She smiled without replying but her eyes said a lot. She seemed genuinely happy to have him there, which relieved him a bit. It was all too much to sort out at once, too big and overwhelming, this newness. He was tired, drained from jet lag and the injuries he’d sustained, and long overdue for painkillers.

She left and Quinn took a couple minutes to just breathe, something he felt like he hadn't done since he got on that plane to Syria two months ago.

He washed his face in the sink to wake himself up a little bit and returned to the bed to attempt cleaning his wounds one-handed. He managed to undo the sling and slip it off with only slight discomfort, but getting his shirt off was a much more awkward process. He cringed at the way the motion pulled on his shoulder, putting stress on the stitches.

“Here, let me help,” Carrie appeared in the doorway with a glass of water and invited herself in. She set the cup down and helped him slip his shirt the rest of the way off without damaging his sutures too much.

“Jesus, Quinn,” She muttered, seeing the thick wrapping on his abdomen and shoulder.

He shrugged, peeling off the gauze on his shoulder with his good arm, “Could’ve been worse, had we gotten to Turkey a day later, sepsis would’ve set in.”

“You’re still susceptible. And it’s not like it’s just a graze.” She said, slight annoyance in her voice.

He could handle this side of Carrie, annoyed, argumentative Carrie. He was used to it, the constant fight. But this _concerned_ and _vulnerable_ version of her, it unnerved him, especially when that concern was directed towards him.

The wound under the bandage had healed slightly, jagged lines of the stitches where the bullet hit, red, angry scars not quite closed over. He had a medical kit packed in his bag, a necessity in this job, but Carrie told him to wait and came back with a washcloth and a bottle of homemade saline wash.

"It comes in handy," She explained. He wasn't surprised, they'd both been in this life long enough to come prepared.

He held his hand out but she shook her head, "I've got it, you need to keep that still." She gestured to his left arm. He was technically supposed to have it stabilized since it was out of its sling, there wasn't a doctor on earth who would approve of his injury maintenance, but he had certainly never been a star patient.

Carrie was surprisingly gentle when she cleaned the wound, dabbing and wiping away the dried blood, careful to avoid pulling anything. It was strangely intimate, she was too close, invading his personal space and fucking with his senses.

Her hair was tickling at his bare chest and he could've sworn he had goosebumps. She finished cleaning the area and paused, running a feather light touch over the skin around the stitches, sending a tingle straight up his spine, he nearly shuddered. She was still for a second and he could feel himself holding his breath, every muscle tense.

She was far too near, too careful, he could smell her hair, the soft scent of vanilla from her perfume. It was _too fucking much,_ all of it, putting him on edge, like he'd crawl out of his skin.

He was almost sure she could feel it, too, like she was waiting for something, although what that was he couldn't figure out.

He broke the moment to reach for the gauze, so fucking flustered, he hated it. It was like she wormed her way inside of him and flipped all of his insides, shook his foundation, deconstructed his every plan. His defenses were no match for her and he knew now why he'd left the first time. Every second spent in her orbit was another second she wore down his walls.

They were both silent as she wrapped the gauze over the bullet wound, avoiding his eyes. He didn't know what to make of that moment, or if there even was a moment.

Maybe he'd just imagined the whole fucking thing. He cleaned the cuts on his abdomen himself, no fucking way in hell he was about to have her hands all over the skin of his waist, his hips. He couldn't think clearly with her hands on him, wasn't sure how to read anything that she'd done since he'd stepped foot off the plane.

She was maddeningly complex, every time he thought he'd figured her out, figured them out, she'd throw him a curveball. It was too much to sort through all at once, and he was feeling somewhat overwhelmed, the lack of sleep not helping at all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quinn's first night home from Carrie's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College has been killing me as of lately, amongst other drama in life that's got me thinking too much. But here's another chapter for ya'll! I can't forget these two!
> 
> QOTD: What kind of Job do you think Quinn would've gotten after leaving the CIA?

Carrie was frozen, her hand hovering lightly over the wound on Quinn's shoulder, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, close enough that she could kiss him. She wanted to, craved it, could practically taste his lips on hers, feel his body against her own like that night when she'd last seen him. She'd dreamed of doing it again so many times since he'd left, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She didn't know where they stood, if they stood anywhere at all. He'd hardly said twelve words since he'd been back and she didn't know whether to attribute it to jet lag or the fact that he honestly didn't care to speak to her. He'd agreed to stay, which was a step in the right direction. But this moment was so raw and tense it thrummed in the air, at least she thought it did. She thought he might feel it, too, could feel how tense he was. But he broke the spell when he reached for the roll of gauze, so nonchalant she wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing. When she'd unwrapped the last layer of dressing on his waist, she frowned, jaw clenching in frustration when she saw the gash where he'd been hit, inflamed stitches where shrapnel had been removed. It looked painful and she wondered if the doctors in Turkey had done their job properly, found herself looking for someone to be upset at. If she couldn't comfort Quinn the way she wanted to, she wanted to rail at the people who'd hurt him in the first place.

He cleaned the wounds himself, and she tried to bite her tongue from berating him about the fact that he'd been in such dangerous places in the first place, that he needed to be fucking careful. Instead she found herself grimacing, helping him wrap new bandages around his stomach. She didn't miss the way he winced at the pressure, seeming much more pained than he had when she cleaned his shoulder wound. The injuries looked pretty damn painful, and his two-day trek in the desert had likely not done any favors to them. She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him swear he wouldn't let himself get hurt like that again, that he'd be careful, stay out of the fucking desert for a long, long time.

The doorbell rang just as Quinn was grabbing his shirt and Carrie stood up, reluctant to leave, "It's probably the babysitter," She told him and he nodded. It felt like time had frozen, for a few minutes, where nothing else existed except her and Quinn. Lena was at the door with Franny in her arms and Carrie smiled, scooping her daughter up and thanking the babysitter. "I won't need you tomorrow, I'll be here." She informed Lena. The next day would be a Saturday and normally she'd have gone into work for a few hours, to keep from going stir-crazy, but she fully planned to take advantage of her Saturday to relax like a normal person, soak in whatever time she had with Quinn. "That's fine, enjoy your weekend." Lena smiled and waved, giving Franny one last kiss on the forehead before leaving. Carrie closed the door and set Franny's diaper bag down, kissing her on the cheek. "Hey, little munchkin, you happy to be home?" She nuzzled her nose and relished in the laugh Franny gave, blue eyes bright with happiness.

Out of the corner of her eye, Carrie saw Quinn standing a few feet away, ghost of a smile on his face. "Look who came to to visit," She announced to her daughter, bringing Franny closer. "You want to say hi?" She asked and Franny made a contented gurgling sound as Quinn held out his arms without hesitation. He didn't even hide his smile as he took the baby in his arms and Carrie felt a grin spreading over her own face. "Hey, you." He laughed as Franny immediately grabbed his nose, then moved to explore his whole face with her hand, staring at him like he was a fascinating new toy. He looked so fucking happy Carrie felt her insides melt.

She watched, laughing as the girl made short work of burying her little fist in Quinn's hair and tugging at it like she did to Carrie's. Watching Quinn be assaulted by little laughing baby was the best thing she'd seen in months. "What do you think? Hmm? You're having way too much fun," He murmured teasingly to Franny, still grinning like she was the best thing in the world. "She's gotten so big," He said to Carrie, surprise evident in his voice as he shifted the girl onto his non-injured side. Carrie hadn't even noticed he was using both arms, even though it probably hurt like hell. "She has, she'll be nine months next month." She said and it hit her like a freight train to admit it out loud. Quinn considered it for moment, before turning back with a smile to Franny, who'd been busying herself by scrunching his shirt in her hands and trying to chew on it. He smoothed her hair across her forehead, still boldly red against her pale skin, and pressed a kiss to her hair before handing her back to Carrie.

"I think she likes you." Carried teased, noting the damp spots where Franny had tried to eat Quinn's shirt. He smiled at that, truly enamored with the girl. It was strange, seeing him so honestly happy about something, watching them together was the purest thing, not a single wall when he was with her. Carrie understood the feeling, it had taken her a long time to feel comfortable with her child and she was certainly no poster-mother, but now, Franny was like a safe haven for her, so innocent and needy, not yet jaded by the world, and when Carrie saw the way the girl looked at her, she felt like she was a fucking superhero.

"Oh fuck! I put some spaghetti on to boil but never turned it on," Carrie remembered absentmindedly. Quinn looked slightly amused. "I can make it," He offered, and Carrie realized she'd never even considered the thought of him cooking until now. "Works for me, I'm gonna go change this one." She took Franny upstairs and changed her, a smile creeping over her face as she replayed the moments from earlier.

It had snuck up on her, this feeling about Quinn. She was hesitant to admit it to herself or anyone else but he'd somehow become woven into her life, he was simultaneously the steady calm that she craved and the force of intensity that had interrupted her life, made her confront things she didn't want to see, made her want to take care of herself. His words about his own child had stuck with her throughout all the doubting, the days she wished she'd never had a kid.

He was there in little fragments and pieces through the years, by her side without her even having to ask and it'd never been been clearer to her how much he meant to her until now. But it was never that simple, never just _"I really fucking like you and want you in my life all the time"_ and that would be that. She'd been terrified to fuck things up before and even moreso now, not because of her illness but because she understood how fragile a thing it was, and how valuable, she couldn't lose him again.

And he had his own walls, she knew that. He was gun-shy of her tendencies, knew her too well to ever fully just relax. She wondered if he'd always hold back, masking his most tender, vulnerable side under a thick shell of indifference, too distrusting to let her in, to give her the power to wound him like they both knew she could. He could fuck her up, too, but he didn't seem to know it quite as well, was an expert at somehow viewing all of her actions through the lens of her past selfishness. She hadn't given him much reason to think otherwise, but she was trying, in her own way. It was awkward and slow, like Franny learning how to walk for the first time. But she'd try, for the sake of this, whatever it was. And if he didn't want it anymore, had decided it was a bad idea, she wasn't sure how she'd accept it and move on.

Quinn was cooking the sauce when she came back downstairs, and she wondered how long she'd been gone. He fit right in, like a fixture in her kitchen, like he'd been there all along. She strapped Franny into her highchair and pulled a variety of baby food jars out of the fridge. "Is cooking something you do often, or does it just come to you naturally like everything else?" She asked wryly as she prepped Franny's dinner. Quinn acknowledged her with a raised eyebrow, clearly gauging whether it was meant sarcastically or as a compliment. He must've found the answer in her expression because he turned back to the stove, "I used to cook quite a bit. Before I left the group for the agency."

It sounded like a story worth hearing so she pried, "Really?", wrangling the jar of mashed sweet potatoes until the damn lid finally came off. "Yeah. We took turns cooking during the week and I started to like it, so I got the job most nights. When I started doing more with the agency, there wasn't much time for it." She huffed a laugh. No shit. There was hardly time or motivation for her to do anything more than microwave a frozen meal or order takeout when she was knee-deep in a mission. "It's definitely not a job for homemakers, that's for sure." She agreed. "I stopped cooking the month I took my first posting. There wasn't really a reason to do it anymore." He nodded, "Lebanon, right?"

"Right." She remembered the sights and sounds of that posting well, the feeling of excitement that nearly swallowed her whole, a naive young officer, emboldened with grand visions of changing the world, unaware of just how much it would cost her. "You ever miss those days?" He asked, almost like he'd read her mind. She paused her spoon-feeding to consider it, "Not really. I was green, had to learn a lot of hard lessons pretty quick. Feels like I was a different person back then." She shook her head, scooped another spoonful of orange mush into Franny's waiting mouth. "You?"

He stirred the pasta and turned off the stove, shaking his head, "Fuck, no. Some of the worst years of my life." She considered that, woefully under-informed about Quinn's past before she met him. She knew he was one of Dar's men and that he'd been on many overseas missions throughout the years but there was a lot redacted from his record, too high of clearance for her to read. Or it was neglected to be mentioned, much of his life a mystery just like much of him was. "What's your family like?" She asked suddenly, optimistic from the comfortable rhythm of their conversation so far. He paused his vegetable chopping for moment, tense, before resuming. "Dead. Most of them. The rest I haven't seen in a long time." He didn't look at her, the admission alone seemed to take something out of him.

"Were you close with any of them? Your parents?" She was aware it was testy water but he knew far more about her than she knew about him and she wanted to balance the scales a bit, learn about his life. "Not really," His voice was still impassive, "I was a foster kid, never knew them." She tried not to let her surprise shine through, wanted to take this information with the same detachment that he gave it with, but it was hard to hear. Foster kid was not something she'd ever associated him with. He was sophisticated, held his own with a unique sort of confidence and self-reliance, never came across to her as someone who'd came from scrappy beginnings. "So no Hill School and Harvard, then?" She probed, tone light, remembering the snappy back-and-forth of that early conversation, how different their dynamic was then. He smiled slightly, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. "Both, actually, but later on. I finished high school at the Hill just to get a diploma, and three at Harvard, to learn foreign languages, among other things. I never got a degree, had to drop out for a mission."

She was extremely surprised, "As a foster kid? How did you have the money?" It sounded coarse, but he knew what she meant. "Dar sponsored me for training, they needed someone with good creds, enough education for a believable backstory." She was putting the pieces together in her head now, vaguely aware that Franny wasn't hungry anymore and was smearing applesauce on her highchair. Quinn noticed and quirked a smile, coming back out of whatever dark place talking about his past put him in. Carrie was somewhat spellbound, interested in hearing more at some point. She closed the jars and grabbed the nearest wet cloth to wipe up the applesauce before Franny could start wearing it. "You're a mess, missy," She tsked and Franny giggled contentedly, proud of her handiwork. Carrie rolled her eyes and settled her with her favorite mealtime toys, a wooden spoon and her sippy cup of juice, the one with a lid that was just challenging enough to get open that it would keep her busy for a bit.

"Colander?" Quinn asked from behind her. She grabbed one from the cupboard and set it in the sink for him, grabbing the pot off the stove before he did, deciding that he didn't need to be putting any more strain on his left arm than he already had. She'd made herself his self-appointed nurse whether he wanted it or not, knowing it was only a matter of time before he noticed and got annoyed at her doing things for him. Fair enough, he'd do the same for her.

"Ready?" She asked, referring to the food and also to the thought of sitting down to dinner with Quinn. "Ready." It echoed of their conversation the last time they'd been together, only, she'd never imagined she'd be cooking fucking spaghetti with Quinn, and feeling so content about it. The dinner was interspersed with comfortable small talk about work, the things she was doing at the agency, what their coworkers from Islamabad were up to, what happened to Saul, nothing too deep. She didn't mention Dar, knew full well that Quinn would lose his shit to learn that he very nearly blew up not only his own boss and long-time mentor, but also the terrorist he'd made a deal with. She hated having this secret that she couldn't tell him. It made her realize that, up until now, she'd never really felt the need to keep any secrets from him. He was the first person to learn she was pregnant, for fuck's sake, and he wasn't even the father or a family member.

She wondered when they'd crossed this line into each other's lives where they stopped being just coworkers and became so much more, too much darkness tying them together for them to ever fully be rid of each other, even if they cut ties and never saw each other again they'd still be unmistakably interwoven.

She washed the dishes and he dried, companionable silence as they stood side by side, silent except for the sounds of Franny animatedly babbling at her stuffed animals, occasionally throwing down toys that Quinn faithfully picked up and returned to her, much to Carrie's amusement. "She's tenacious." She observed with a smirk the third time it happened. "She's like her mother." He set the little purple unicorn with multi-colored hair back on Franny's high-chair. "Well you keep up pretty well," She told him, not just talking about Franny. "I learned eventually," He shrugged, telltale dryness in his tone making obvious the fact that he hadn't actually had much of a choice.

She smiled, handing him a plate to put away in exchange for his towel to dry her hands. They were only inches away from each other, and she found herself frozen again, entranced by the sheer fact that this was him and they'd waited far too long for this. He met her gaze momentarily before pulling back, casual and calm, far too put together. She felt frustration building in her like boiling water. What was he doing? Did he honestly not feel the same way she did? Or was it just too much for him, all the fucked up things that had brought them here, and he didn't want to go down that road with her? She was perfectly content to have him here, washing her dishes, eating dinner with her, just being friends, but she was so sure he wanted more, like she did. She'd realized too late but she had hoped that there was still a chance. That she hadn't missed him.

He was undoing Franny's highchair now, lifting her out of her seat as she yawned, tired out from a busy day of eating and playing. "C'mere, sleepyhead," He said softly, resting her against his chest as he set her tray full of toys on the table. "Bedtime?" He questioned, rubbing her back as she rested her little head on his shoulder, sucking her thumb sleepily. Carrie nodded, feeling that horribly mushy feeling in her chest at the sight. "I can change her...Unless you want to." She thought it might be a little much, asking Quinn if he wanted to take care of her daughter, like they were one big happy family, but he just nodded, completely undeterred by the idea.

He carried Franny upstairs, murmuring calm words into her ear, Carrie following close behind. She was addicted to this calm he brought with him. This steady reliability she'd come to expect from him. She fetched the supplies and helped where needed but Quinn made relatively smooth work of diapering Franny and dressing her in her pajama set, tiny little clothes with pink flowers. She set Franny in the crib with a kiss goodnight and Quinn stood over her crib for a few moments, fond, and she wondered what he was thinking. "She's perfect." He whispered, as if Carrie's heart wasn't already bursting with happiness. Keep this up and she might actually cry. He covered the girl with her little blanket and his lips curled into a smile when Franny grabbed his finger with her chubby little hand, just awake enough to gurgle a little gah. He whispered something to her in Arabic before flicking off the lamp and following Carrie out.

"What'd you say to her?" Carried asked when he'd closed the door. "'Ahlam jamila," He said. _Sweet dreams_. "One of the first phrases I ever learned in Arabic." She nodded, overwhelmingly fond. Of her daughter and this man who'd somehow invaded her mind and the space of her heart that she'd reserved for only a special few.

They found themselves in the living room after everything was done, her on the couch across from where Quinn sat in the recliner, both of them thinking a million things and saying none of them. She wanted to ask why he left for Syria instead of waiting for her answer, if he meant it when he said he wanted to get out with her, what the future would hold...all of it. But she couldn't broach it, not when she was so uncertain herself.

"How's your shoulder?" She asked instead, reminiscent of a conversation from a year ago. He gave a noncommittal hand wave, "It's fine." She raised her brows, skeptical. "Sure."

He didn't take the bait, "Does it bother you, being back at Langley after all those years overseas?" That wasn't what she expected him to ask.

"Not as much as I thought it would. I've got Franny to keep me busy, and Maggie makes sure to drag me along to every social event she has to keep her eye on me." She rolls her eyes. Thinks, and I've been preoccupied with other things so I didn't notice as much. "She get on your nerves a lot?" He looks almost amused, she pulls a face. "That's an understatement, she's got this way of sounding condescending about every fucking thing I do." She takes another long sip from her mug, tea, not wine, a serious adjustment for her but one she's sticking with so far. "She cares about you." He says, thoughtful, and she huffs, "She's got a funny way of showing it."

"You want any tea?" She asks after a beat, surprising herself with remembering little things like hospitality.

"Tea? You pregnant again?" He deadpans and it's so unexpected Carrie chokes on her tea, glares at him, "God, no. I'm trying to get sober, one month so far." His expression betrays his surprise but he nods, "Why?"

"I dunno," She shrugs. "Seemed like a good thing to do," She tells him, but if she were honest she'd say it was because she spent the first month he was gone drinking herself numb most nights and had to stop. It's awfully raw to think of, how much she'd needed him, how badly she crashed when he left, yet something about having a daughter and a purpose made her pull herself together. Hoping he'd come back had kept her making good choices, too, she'd reminded herself that he would've always told her to take care of herself, would've probably been floored to know how much his absence affected her.

"How did you get injured?" She broached the topic with caution, unsure how the topic of Syria would go over. She'd heard some of it from Dar but she wanted to hear it from Quinn, or at least as much as he'd say. He regarded her passively for a second and she wondered if he was going to tell her to fuck off, that it was none of her business.

But he didn't. "How much did you hear?" "Dar said you got shot, and something about an IED. What the fuck were you doing?" The impetuous tone in her voice wasn't exactly helpful but, for Carrie, it was almost habitual.

A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, "My job."

She wanted to throw something at him, maybe flip him off, but instead she just set her mug down and crossed her arms, unyielding. "And?"

He sighed, that resigned, but pissed off sigh he had so often when her was in her orbit. She couldn't care less, he always caved in the end. "We were there to take out a target, Zahid Hajjar, but there was a sniper hiding in the roof garden a house down, he hit me and nearly got another one of our guys. Then on the way out our truck hit an IED, Mason took some shrapnel to the lower leg, no bone damage but it hit a nerve. And then I got, this," He gestured to his lower waist, if she hadn't seen the wounds for herself she wouldn't have imagined they were bad at all by the detached tone of his voice, like he was giving a status update.

"How did you get out?" She asked, shifting in her seat to be more comfortable.

It was interesting, hearing him talk about a mission, he'd never been much of a talker, they'd been fairly efficient communicators, talked about the necessary things, fought about nearly everything else. But they'd also had quiet downtime sometimes, where she'd rant and rave about whatever was currently pissing her off, or they'd just sit in each other's silence for a few minutes, and she'd taken it for granted until he'd been gone. And every time he was away and she didn't have that person she could just go to and talk to about her day or a conversation that she was upset about, or even just be near him, she realized how much she fucking missed it. Missed him. And fuck when had that even started? And how had it taken her so long to figure it out? Part of her knew exactly why, she was an expert at avoiding things she didn't want to think about, an expert at deflecting and shifting the focus from uncomfortable topics to middle ground, partially why they'd argued so damn much. She had hated the way she cared what he thought of her, more than she did about many others. It pissed her off and she'd railed against him at every turn, determined to get the upper hand back and keep it.

While Carrie was lost in though, Quinn was explaining their escape from the hostile situation, how they managed to get to the safe house even though the explosion alerted the enemy to their presence. They'd walked for twelve miles, twelve fucking miles in his injured state, and Carrie tried not to show her surprise. Most likely, on a good day, he could walk over thirty miles, being a highly-trained soldier. But she imagined him with those injuries, in the desert sun and heat, trekking his way through miles of dirt and sand in unfriendly territory and it just twisted her stomach a little. If only things had gone so differently two months ago, if he'd never left and they'd been able to just talk about everything, without this strained tension between them, too many things unsaid.

"I'm really fucking glad you didn't die." Carrie said when he finished. He nodded, "I'm glad we didn't lose any guys." They were silent for a few minutes, both thinking, about what could've happened. It was like Sandy dying, opening their eyes to how short life was. Carrie guessed Quinn must've had a far better understanding of that fact than she did, given the fact that he spent the last twelve years of his life doing risky, high-stakes jobs in extremely dangerous places, but she got it too. She’d buried more than her fair share of colleagues and friends, including the father of her child, and she knew firsthand the way it made life seem all the more _unpromised_.

“We should get some sleep,” He said finally, standing up slowly. Carrie wanted him to stay, but there was no good reason to say it, unless she was going to ascend these walls of theirs, finally say some real fucking shit. Blurt out all of these painful truths she’d been holding back. She wondered why he hadn’t done it yet, always the master of not letting her hide from things, typically this would be the point where he’d ask her some uncomfortable question that’d make her automatically defensive, set them off in their combustive cycle.

She nods instead, not convinced, not ready for the conversation to end, but not willing to go the extra mile…yet. She stays in her seat, staring into the distance long after he’s already gone into his room, wishing she could just cross the gaping crater between them into the point where they’re both just _honest_ for one goddamn minute. And maybe he’s been honest with her at times and vice versa, but she’s not good at this shit, never has been. With Brody, she didn’t need words to convince him, they’d built a relationship on passion mixed with darkness and terrible distrust. It was a whirlwind and she’s never needed to _do_ anything, just got caught up in it and he was, too. But her and Quinn were another matter entirely.

Eventually she got up and washed her mug, feeling somehow so fucking _alone_ even though she wasn’t. She hated it, the gnawing feeling in her chest and gut that said she was missing something. It was almost better to never know what you could have had than to know and not be able to have it. She stood at the sink, knuckles turning white from how hard she was grasping it, head bowed, silent tears running down her cheeks. How was it that every time she found something _valuable_ in her life, she always lost it? Was she really so incapable of loving, of being loved, that she was fucking _destined_ to be alone? She stood there for an undetermined amount of time, calming her thoughts in the silence of the house, wishing there was some other way to quell this horrible _ache_ in her heart. Wishing love, or whatever this was, didn’t have to hurt so fucking bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream, I got everything I wanted  
> But when I wake up, I see you with me
> 
> And you say, "As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you  
> Don't wanna lie here, but you can learn to  
> If I could change the way that you see yourself  
> You wouldn't wonder why you hear, 'they don't deserve you'."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been imaging this scene at the end for so long, and even with how much these two fight and push each other away, I think they'd also be fiercely protective of each other because they both know what it's like to put up walls and never let people in.

Quinn tossed and turned for hours after he left Carrie sitting in her living room, looking so untethered, like there was something at the tip of her tongue and she wasn’t going to say it. Well, _fuck_ , neither was he. He’d had enough bloodletting moments with Carrie to last him a lifetime. Or at least, he figured it would be wise to put a stop to that unfortunate habit.

Somehow she brought out the best and worst of him, the part that could still care, so much it scared him, and the part that was so desperately unhinged that he felt like he was spinning out of control every time they fought, every time she gave him that imploring look or raged against his concern.

For all the softness she brought out in him, he seemed to ignite her fury, like the more he opened up to her the more she shut him out. And it couldn’t really be that hard, right? To close himself off to her, be a little more guarded, a little less pathetically vulnerable to her. He’d done it with countless people before, yet somehow couldn’t manage it with Carrie.

_Fucking Carrie._

He was staring at the ceiling in the dark, trying to ignore the way his chest felt tight and his mind unsettled and everything was so damn wrong. But he didn’t move, didn’t dare act on a single one of the actions floating through his head.

They ranged from climbing out the fucking window and disappearing for good, to finding Carrie and kissing her so hard neither of them could breathe, imploring her to see, to fucking _feel_ what she did to him. But instead his mind and body helpfully supplied him with rather pressing distractions.

He couldn’t ignore the way his abdomen felt painfully sore, tender to the touch, possibly swollen beneath the bandages Carrie had helped him put on earlier in the day.

Fucking _Carrie._

He didn’t let his thoughts travel down that tempting but treacherous road, instead focused on breathing as steadily as possible to slow his racing thoughts, ease some of the stress that was probably making his injuries inflamed. He’d taken painkillers a few hours ago and yet they hadn’t kicked in yet, so he closed his eyes and hoped for sleep that probably wouldn’t come. Just another sleepless night in a countless year of them.

________________________________________

Morning came with no warning or welcome, Quinn snapped out of complete darkness to his alarm going off, somehow having been dead asleep despite how restless he’d been the night before. His whole body felt like lead, sore and far too warm, and he was bone tired. He dragged himself out of bed to silence his phone before it woke Carrie up and decided a long shower was in the works.

Carrie was making breakfast when he came into the kitchen, showered and dressed for his debrief, feeling like utter and complete shit. He managed a half-smile for her, though, wondering if cooking breakfast this early on a Saturday morning was a normal _Carrie thing_ or just one of those strange, domestic tasks she’d taken on since she’d come back from Islamabad.

“Hey,” She acknowledged him with a slight nod, fishing an eggshell out of the bowl she was scrambling in and flicking it to the side.

“You get much sleep?” She asked, sounding a bit tense and wired, like she’d already been through too much shit for this hour of the morning.

That confused him, she’d _just_ woken up and somehow she was already pissed. He wondered at how she managed to be so tightly strung all the time and even with her new, ‘zen mother’ routine, she was still inexplicably so strained around him.

“Sure. You?” He didn’t take on her tone, noncommittal, if she wanted a fight this early in the morning, for god know’s what reason, she was gonna have to save it. He was too fucking far gone for this shit and he needed to make it through several hours worth of repetitive questions with a building headache and his entire body feeling like it was on fire.

“Not really.” She snapped.

She hadn’t made coffee yet so he did it while she angrily scrambled eggs and cooked them, putting toast down like it had offended her. It was so petty it was almost laughable if he wasn’t already at his wit’s end. He purposefully ignored it, cleaned up where she hadn’t bothered to be neat, and buttered toast while she put the eggs on plates.

He didn’t feel like eating a single thing, but he also had zero energy to put up a fight about it, and in her current state, Carrie would probably go toe to toe over a misplaced spoon.

“You’re all dressed for work on a Saturday, got plans?” She still had that edge to her voice, a good warning that this was a minefield and if he stepped one wrong step she’d blow up.

“A full debrief with Dar Adal,” He told her.

She nodded, seeming neither more nor less angry.

“Well I’m taking Franny to the park later today, so if you have time, or…want to join…” She didn’t finish the sentence, leaving it purposefully open-ended, an accusatory tone to her words.

He wondered how the hell she gathered that he didn’t have time to be around her, how his going to a debrief somehow equated to him not wanting to join her. His head was spinning and it was too early in the morning for this shit, so he just nodded and she went to get Franny up while he silently prayed she’d just leave it alone until he could get through the rest of the day.

The afternoon before had been strangely uncomplicated, the same tenseness that always accompanied them was there, but there were no arguments, nothing too heavy.

But _this_ , it felt like they were back to being on different sides of the equator.

Carrie came tramping back down the stairs with Franny and set about feeding her breakfast, silently standoffish, while Quinn ate a thankfully small amount of food. When he was done, he offered to finish feeding Franny so Carrie could eat and she just gave him an impassive nod and handed him the spoon.

If it were any other day or person, he’d probably say something, tell them to cut out the bullshit and say what was bothering them. But this was Carrie, and the day was going all sorts of shit so far, so he didn’t say a word.

When breakfast was done and mostly cleaned up, he left, overwhelmingly relieved for his own car and somewhat glad to not be with Carrie anymore, she gave him a fucking migraine even when he was perfectly healthy.

________________________________________

The debrief and subsequent meetings were long and tiresome and by the time they broke for lunch, Quinn was nearly dead on his feet. When he checked the time it was nearly two in the afternoon and there was still another four hours left to account for.

He was beyond frustrated, all the pissed off energy Carrie had thrown into their interactions that morning, and he wouldn’t be able to meet up with her after all. He sent her a short text, letting her know he’d be gone until sometime after six, and then stocked up with water, coffee, painkillers and a quick splash of cold water on his face in the bathroom before going back into another stuffy conference room, determined not to fall asleep or flip out on someone.

Carrie hadn’t replied by the time he had to go back in.

________________________________________

Carrie was folding a batch of laundry when she heard Quinn come home, the car door shutting telling her he was back. It was sometime close to seven and the daylight had turned to a setting sun.

She was pissed, had been prepping her speech all fucking day, yet the second he walked in the door she was blindsided by how utterly exhausted he looked. He looked horribly pale and tired and she felt her stomach twist, all her angry rantings forgotten for the time being.

“Quinn, are you okay? What the fuck happened?” She quickly stood up, abandoning the laundry on the floor, and he gave her a confused look, “What do you mean?”

“You look like shit.” She crossed the gap and closed the door behind him, surprised by how badly she wanted to touch him, make sure he was okay. She settled for a hand to his forehead, which was burning hot, and was yet again tempted to give that pissed off speech.

“Jesus _fucking_ christ, Quinn, you’re burning up!”

He tossed her an annoyed glance and shrugged off his jacket, looking so pale and flushed she wanted to tell him to sit down before he passed out.

“I’m fine,” He told her blandly in reply, and _no shit_ he thought he was fucking fine, he’d spent the entire damn day in this condition and apparently hadn’t even thought to say anything, maybe call off the last five hours of meetings so he could take a nap, at least.

“You’re not fucking fine, not even close. Why didn’t you come home earlier? You could’ve at least said something.” She sounded angry and nagging but she was beyond caring. If he wasn’t going to take care of himself, she’d make damn sure that he got better, and he couldn’t complain, he’d done the same for her many a time already. And you know what they say, _payback’s a bitch_.

She all but forced him to go lay down and got a piping hot cup of ginger tea with honey and lemon, something she’d learned overseas when she was fighting a simple little cold that wouldn’t go away, and one of the kind older ladies from the village took time to show the strange American woman how to heal infections naturally.

She figured he should probably go to the doctor at some point, but it wasn’t nearly bad enough that she could convince him to do so, _that_ , she was sure of. When she came back, he’d already changed into more comfortable clothes and was taking the medication he probably should’ve taken way earlier.

She bit her tongue about it and gave him the tea, gesturing that he should drink it when he eyed her somewhat suspiciously. She was no nursemaid but she knew enough to be helpful when it counted. Like right now, when she couldn’t stand seeing Quinn look so sick, thought it was insane how badly she wanted him to feel better. She wasn't used to feeling so sympathetic for someone besides her kid.

She grabbed another blanket from the closet and set it at the foot of the bed for when he inevitably got chills, trying to feel useful, wondering where the line was drawn between what was them and what would be too awkward. The comfortable space of doing things and helping each other out whilst snapping remarks and pulling away was where she was used to being with him, and most people, but she didn't want to stay there, just didn't know how to get out of it.

"Let me know if you need anything. Seriously, Quinn," She told him before she left the room. He hummed a slight reply, pulling the blankets over him and looking so done in that she wondered if he was even still awake.

She sighed and pulled the door almost shut, but figured she'd check up on him later, make sure he was still sleeping.

Carrie busied herself with more chores and some work things she had meant to catch up on, emails, reports, far less invigorating or exciting than anything she usually worked in, before feeling tired enough to go to sleep herself. It was close to ten and she hadn't heard a peep from Quinn so she changed, brushed her teeth and went to check on him.

She was unsurprised to see that he was fucking _shivering_ and yet still hadn't been bothered enough to do anything about it except layer the second blanket on, too. She debated knocking but figured he could probably sense her standing there, anyway, if he was still awake. And how could anyone _not_ be when they're literally shaking cause they're so goddamn cold?

She waited a few moments, wondering if he'd rather her just leave him be, considering he was probably used to being alone, suffering it out by himself. But then she decided, _fuck that_ ,and crossed the space between the door to the bed.

She carefully crawled into the spot behind him and wrapped an arm firmly over his chest, like an anchor keeping him settled. She knew the restless, jittery feeling of a fever that wouldn't let you rest, bone chilling cold that distracted you from anything else.

He was burning hot, she could feel it through the blankets, but it wasn't too unpleasant, she was wearing light pajamas and the heat of his body felt welcome.

At her intrusion, she felt him tense for long moment, a soft noise of surprise when she wrapped her arm across his chest. She knew they should talk about a million things but right now it didn't matter.

He didn't move away so she stayed put, relishing in the way he finally relaxed into her touch and his shivering calmed considerably. She rested her head against his back, listening to his heartbeat, to his breathing as it slowly evened out into sleep.

She wanted to wrap this moment up and keep it in her mind forever, wrapped around Quinn like she wasn't ever going to let him go, and for once she wasn't fighting herself about it, and he wasn't awake to fight, either. So she melted into his warmth, _just for the moment_ , she told herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I love ramblings of C/Q and thoughts about the chapters! 
> 
> QOTD: Who do you think would be the more affectionate one in the relationship? Carrie was pretty affectionate with Brody, so I wonder if she'd be like that with Quin?


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been craaaaazy lately. And likely will be for another 2 weeks or so, but I finally finished another chapter and I'll try to keep updating even if it's a little slow. In the meantime, yall's comments make me smile!!
> 
> QOTD: What's your favorite hair look that Quinn had? I'm undecided lol

It was early morning when Carrie woke up, arms still wrapped around Quinn’s sleeping body, she was comfortable and so warm, it nearly lulled her back to sleep. But he stirred just the slightest and she could tell he was confused, groaning slightly when he tried to turn over.

“You’re good, just sleep,” She whispered, not wanting to ruin this moment, pretty sure he wasn’t entirely awake, probably wondering who was in his bed, wrapped against him like a fucking koala.

He grumbled out an indiscernible response, more like a resigned sigh, probably uncomfortable and in pain but if he could fall back asleep, she wanted him to.

She snuggled a bit closer, counting on the fact that he’d be too out of it to mention it, “You need to go to the hospital tomorrow, okay? I mean it.” She was stern, as stern as she could be when she was still whispering, trying not to disrupt the quiet stillness.

“Mmm,” Was his reply, slowly falling back under. She knew he was probably further gone than she’d originally thought. He was being way too agreeable, Quinn in his normal state would never be so vulnerable, so pliable and willing to let himself be comforted, treated like a child.

But she didn’t see it like that, she wanted to do this for him, knew he’d do the same for her if she allowed it. But they were two in the same, only willing to allow comfort and care when they were at their worst, so far gone they could no longer fight it.

She felt honored, though, to be the only one he let himself soften to, knew firsthand how much of a struggle it was to drop those walls, even just a little bit. So she stayed until she heard Franny crying in her room sometime after dawn, quietly slipped out from beside him, waiting to make sure she hadn’t woken him up before leaving the room.

The night had been comforting, healing in a way she didn’t know she needed. She’d needed something, someone to care about, after Islamabad and her dad dying, her mom showing up and opening that painful hole in her heart all over again.

She had it in Franny, someone to look after and pour her love into, but Franny couldn’t return the gesture, couldn’t understand or reciprocate anything beyond happy gurgles and slobbery kisses.

Carrie diapered and changed her, staring at her wide eyes and unruly hair, a permanent reminder of Brody, it was almost ridiculous. She'd always have him etched into her heart and her mind, that she didn't doubt. But her heart had made way for something else...something different.

And if she was honest with herself, Quinn was a huge part of that space in her heart and mind that looked for the future.

It didn't take long for Quinn to wake up after she'd left, he came to groggily, trying to remember what had happened the night before. He vaguely remembered Carrie coming in the night before and laying down next to him, unless he'd dreamt it. He felt a slight sinking feeling in his stomach when he noticed she wasn't there.

If he _hadn't_ dreamt it, she'd gotten up sometime in the night and left. But before he could think on it any longer, she appeared in the doorway holding Franny on her hip, a slightly hesitant little smile on her face, "How're you feeling?" She asked softly, he noticed she was still wearing pajamas, so she hadn't been awake _that_ long.

"Fine," He murmured, trying to push himself to sitting with limbs that felt like cooked pasta.

His answer earned him a short laugh from her. "Right, sure, Quinn." She rolled her eyes, wryly amused, and wandered over to the bed, Franny babbling excitedly in her arms, wide awake for so early in the morning.

Carrie sat on the edge of the bed, balancing Franny on her lap. "Clearly you're not _fine,_ but I happen to remember you saying you'd go the doctor today."

"Really?" He rubbed a hand across his face, feeling like absolute and utter shit, his whole body was wrecked, shaky and clammy. His side was still aching, burning but not as badly as the night before. His mind was foggy, like there was cotton in it.

"I don't remember making any promises." 

"Mm, but you did _agree_. Which means you're going if I have to carry you there," She was smirking, but he could hear the tone in her voice. If she was actually capable of doing that, he'd almost think she was threatening him.

It broke a huff of a laugh out of him. "I'd like to see that."

She shrugged, "It could happen."

Franny was getting antsy, so Carrie set her on the bed next to Quinn, where she crawled over to grab his shirt. "Aha, two against one." Carrie raised her eyebrows at Quinn, standing up with a flourish, "I think I win." 

Quinn took Franny into his arms, with a slight grimace, but he was stubborn nonetheless, especially for this precious child.

He met Carrie's triumph with a bemused smirk of his own, "I think you usually do." 

He had a point, there.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

Two hours later, Carrie was walking back to the hospital with coffee and a paper bag of scones. She'd left Franny with Lena at home and driven Quinn to Walter Reed despite his insistence that he could drive himself. To her satisfaction, he'd dozed a bit on the way there, looking every bit as serious in his sleep as he did awake. After dropping him off, Carrie had planned to stay but he kept assuring her that he'd be fine, and she could go home.

Instead of going home, Carrie promptly went for breakfast for both of them, she found a little neighborhood bakery nearby and took her sweet time ordering and picking the food up, taking in her surroundings for the first time in a while, looking around at the scenery, all the people enjoying their Sunday in the city, calm and unhurried. 

She wondered what it'd be like to live like this every day, to be _normal_. It felt pretty fucking surreal, but she could almost get used to it. Maybe. 

Carrie headed for Quinn's room after checking in at the nurse's station, hoping he was still there. She wouldn't put it past him to climb out the window and disappear, after all. 

She had to wait in the waiting room for a while, absentmindedly answering emails and texts on her phone, wondering how Quinn was doing. She was concerned about the infection he wasn't letting her in on, and the awful fever he'd had, too. 

A tall, grey-haired, stern-looking doctor approached her after another few minutes, "Miss Mathison? I'm Dr. Clark. You're here to see Mr. Quinn, is that correct?" He asked.

She nodded, "I brought him in, yeah. How's he doing?"

"He's recovering. We had to do a minor operation to remove two small pieces of shrapnel that were causing his infection. It appears that the other wounds are healing relatively well, and they've been properly bandaged. You're both trained in field dressing, I assume?" He raised his eyebrows. 

Carrie nodded, "How big of pieces are we talking? Isn't that what they were supposed to remove in Turkey?" She felt frustration building, the fact that the medical treatment he'd gotten in Turkey wasn't even proper, that he might not have even gotten the shrapnel removed if she hadn't pressed it.

"Approximately two centimeters each, nothing too major. He should recover fine, but he'll need to stay consistent on the medication we're giving him and take it easy for a few weeks." 

Carrie stifled a dry laugh. Quinn on bedrest....it was an amusing thought. 

"He should also come in for a checkup in a week to make sure his stiches are healing properly and there's no risk of infection. You told the nurse he's staying with you, correct?" 

"He is. Are there any symptoms I should be on the lookout for?" She asked.

"Just make sure he's getting enough sleep and keeping those bandages cleaned, and if I'm judging correctly, knowing your type, you might want to be vigilant about making sure he gets checked in again if things get worse." He didn't specify what he meant by 'your type', but Carrie was fairly certain he'd seen more than his fair share of cases like her own. Military personnel and other government agents were in and out of the doors every day. 

"Can I see him?" Carrie asked, relieved when Dr. Clark nodded.

"He's still under some heavy painkillers, so he's going to be a bit sleepy, but I'm sure it'll be fine if you want to visit with him." He smiled, the warm look in his eye making Carrie feel a bit defensive, like she needed to clarify that they weren't _like that_. She wasn't sure why, but it felt like a necessary distinction to make. 

She just smiled back.

Quinn was dozing when Carrie came in, lightly knocking on the door to announce herself. 

"Hey. What're you?" He started, sleepily. 

"Doing here? I got some breakfast, and I'm here because I _want_ to be here, for your information." She informed him, taking a chair near his bed and giving his hand a slight squeeze. His hand was cold in hers and she wanted to rub some warmth into it. He looked so damn pale and it unsettled her. 

"Doc told me they had to pull out some shrapnel," She told him, and he nodded, eyes still sleepy-looking. It was a sweet, young look, made her feel strangely warm inside. "How do you feel now?" She asked.

She could see on his face that he was considering going with 'fine' but the medication must've made him more honest, because he answered with, "Like someone just tore my stomach open. And sort-of dreamy...hazy...I don't know," He sighed, annoyed, and she laughed. 

"So basically you feel like you just had a c-section," She smirked.

He snorted a laugh, then winced, "Fair point."

She thought of the moment she woke up from her own c-section, how life-changing the moment was. She'd went under as a single, childless woman, and came out with a baby of her own, looking at her for her every need. It was terrifying and yet beautiful, more so now than when it had first happened. All she felt then was terror, sheer, palpable fear. 

It was amazing, how far her life had come from that moment. How she'd finally learned to love her daughter in a semi-normal motherly way, how she'd come to realize just a little bit of how much her loved ones meant for her....And how much she actually _did_ care about Quinn. That maybe his idea on that night that felt so long ago could've been _exactly_ what she needed. What he needed. What Franny needed. 

And, even more shockingly, what she actually _wanted_. 

Maybe, just maybe. 

She talked with Quinn until he started drifting off again, and then waited a few more minutes, watching him sleep, hand still holding his because she didn't feel like letting go.

Finally, she left, after eating breakfast (or brunch for that matter) and leaving the remainder for Quinn when he woke up, though she planned to be there when he did. 

She headed to Langley to work on some proposals for changes to their middle-eastern stations, things she'd learned from her time in Kabul and Islamabad. As ugly as Islamabad was, as much as she hated to think about it, she had learned some things she could use in the future, knowledge she could pass on to others that would take her place. She wasn't quite sure how long she'd stay in the agency, after all.

Sometime in the middle of her work, there was a tap on the door and she looked up to see Saul coming in. 

"Carrie," He said by way of greeting. 

"Saul," She replied, her tone more terse than she'd meant it to be. She wasn't in the mood to be bothered, and the look on Saul's face was one that said he had some interrogating to do.

"How have you been?" He asked, leaning casually against her desk, arms crossed loosely over his chest. 

"Fine, thanks." She tried not to let her annoyance shine through but failed miserably. She and Saul hadn't talked much since the shitstorm of Islamabad, and things had felt tense between them ever since, but he had yet to single her out like this since she got back. 

"I have an operation I'd like to bend your ear about, something that's right up your alley. Middle-east, high-priority," His tone was careful, broaching. She mimicked his pose, crossing her arms, sitting a little straighter in her chair.

"And who said I was interested in taking on any active operations right now?" She questioned tightly.

It was bold of him to assume she was ready to jump back into everything that had gotten them into the mess that led to his own capture, the death of thirty-six Americans, and the escape of the most-wanted terrorist with more kills under his belt. 

"Are you not interested? Is this what you want to do? Be a desk analyst? Maybe I'm mistaken, but that's not the Carrie I've ever known." He told her matter-of-factly, eyes boring into her. 

"Yeah, well, maybe I've changed, Saul, it happens," She stared back, hard, but he didn't match her anger. 

"Mm," He hummed non-committedly, disbelieving but not pushing it. He looked away for a moment, thoughtful, "Quinn's staying with you at the moment, correct?" 

"That's right," Her arms were still crossed, she figured it none of his goddamn business, but nonetheless she wasn't about to pretend otherwise. She could let whoever the fuck she wanted stay with her.

"Would that be contributing to your decision at all?" He turned back to look at her, that awful _knowing_ look on his face. 

Carrie glared, "As a matter of fact, _Saul_ , there are a lot of factors playing into my decision. Not least of all, the thirty-six fucking _dead Americans_ at the hand of Haqqani, who's still in the wind. Or how about you being captured and nearly dying? Did you forget about that, Saul?" She tilted her head, frustration pouring out of her tone and the fierce look in her eyes. 

"Believe me, Carrie, no one's forgotten a single thing about Islamabad. Precisely another reason why we need you back in the field." He gave a small shrug.

He was still unbelievably calm. It infuriated Carrie even more. She thought he sounded insanely tone-deaf after everything that had happened. Yet, it was perfectly normal, his suggestion, she'd just finally started to see how destructive, reckless and badly-timed the request was. It was like her eyes had finally been opened after all these years.

"Well, I happen to have a daughter that I've been neglecting since she was born, who I _just_ started developing a relationship with, so I don't plan on going anywhere right now." She said sternly. Saul frowned at her, expression betraying his skepticism. 

"Having a daughter hardly means you can't keep your country safe, Carrie," He replied. 

"I _am_ keeping my country safe, Saul. I don't have to be in the field to accomplish that. I can do just as much good from a desk, taking care of my family, as I can being out there apart of all the death and misery that I've seen for years. Don't you fucking accuse me of not _doing my_ job," She snapped.

In hindsight, she realized she'd said _my family_ , instead of _my daughter_ and it scared her for a second. Was she including Quinn as part of her family? Would that be so bad? 

Saul raised his eyebrows, but nodded, still not convinced, "I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just saying, think your decisions through fully, Carrie. You're needed."

He stood up, moving for her door but looking back one last time. "Islamabad was a tragedy, but they'll keep happening if we're not there to prevent them, Carrie, you of all people know that." And with that, he left.

She glared at the door. How dare he waltz in after everything she'd gone through, everything they'd _all_ been through, and act like _she_ was in the wrong for not being ready to throw herself back into the hellhole, when she'd just began to focus on things that actually mattered. 

She realized it wasn't all too different from the way she'd treated Quinn when he'd voiced his own concerns about the work they did. When he talked about getting out, even when he actually _did_ start the process of getting out, she was constantly there dragging him back in. She'd looked at him like Saul was looking at her now. And she ultimately understood what Quinn had felt, she was starting to feel it, too.

Later that day, Carrie came back to the hospital, relieved to find Quinn still in his room, though, being stubborn as ever, he was more than ready to leave. 

"You sure you don't want to stay overnight?" She questioned, already knowing the answer. She'd brought him some clothes to change into, anticipating that he'd want to go home, but figured she'd ask.

"Fuck no," He muttered, already pushing himself to sitting so he could get out of the bed.

The procedure hadn't been major enough to warrant him _needing_ to stay overnight, but the doctor had recommended it. The painkillers and antibiotics they'd prescribed were strong enough to allow him to do minimal walking without being in too much pain, but rest and sleep were on the agenda for him, and Carrie planned to make sure he followed it.

"Not a fan of hospitals, are you," Carrie mused, handing him the clothes she'd brought. 

"Not at all," He told her, "Thanks." 

She nodded, smirking, "So you can change in the bathroom like a normal person." 

He gave her a look, somewhere between amused and annoyed, "Were we _ever_ normal, Carrie?" To which she rolled her eyes but agreed.

When they left, she almost told him to lean on her while they walked, but he was relentlessly stubborn, choosing to walk on his own, and most _definitely_ not use a wheelchair. 

"I'm fine, go ahead," He waved her on, following a bit slower behind her. She glared at him without any real heat but walked to her car anyway, sneaking glances back to make sure he was okay. 

"Were you always this fucking stubborn?" She asked when he reached the car.

She opened the door for him and he shot her a look, making her smile smugly. 

"Pretty sure I was," He told her when they'd both settled.

"Jesus," She laughed, putting on her seatbelt and pulling out of the parking space. 

"Like you're one to talk," He told her dryly.

She shrugged, hint of a smile on her face, "Whatever gets the job done. So if I have to knock you out myself, you're going to get plenty of rest." 

"You would," He snarked back, but she could the fondness in his voice. Or maybe she was imagining it. She didn't _think_ she was imagining it. 

When they got home, she managed to get Quinn to eat some food and drink water, with plenty of brooding glares and annoyed looks on his part, and plenty of nagging and snapping on hers, but in the end he ate enough that she was okay with it, and he was starting to feel sleepy. 

She took the dishes to the sink, and when she came back, Quinn was nearly dozed off. She smiled to herself and sat on the edge of the bed, lightly running a hand through his hair while he lay, face-down, eyes closed. He stirred a bit at that, eyes opening sleepily and looking up at her, making her smile cheekily. She'd been caught, and she didn't care one bit.

She liked doing this, taking care of him. He'd done it more than enough for her, and while they both bitched and complained every single damn time, they both needed it more than they would care to admit. She knew it was risky, because the more moments like piled up, eventually they'd have to discuss the elephant in the room, but she didn't care about that right now. He didn't say anything, just watched her for a moment, still half-asleep, but she could tell it felt good because he drifted back under with the hint of contentment on his face. 

Mission, accomplished. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you don't know what you've got until it's gone.  
> And you don't know who to love until you're lost.  
> And you don't know how to feel until the moment's passed.  
> I wish you'd live like you're made of glass.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry this took so long, ya'll! I'm still barely catching up on life after 2 consecutive trips and more to come, but here it is!
> 
> Do yourself a favor and listen to this BEAUTIFUL SONG while you read this chapter, or anytime. It's amazing.
> 
> Waste - Oh Wonder (cover) by Nick Wilson  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hatGxHtrLa4

Quinn jerked awake in the middle of the night to the tail-end of a muffled shriek. He was out of bed in a heartbeat, silently walking into the hallway, listening for any strange sounds. Carrie's door was slightly ajar, and he heard a frustrated groan coming from her room.

He tapped lightly on the door and she called out a tired, "Yeah?" So he came in, making out Carrie in the darkness, sitting in the middle of her bed, sleep mask tangled into messy hair. She looked positively shitty and haunted.

"You okay?" He asked, coming closer to sit on the edge of the bed. She nodded, blowing out a long sigh and rolling her shoulders, trying to loosen all her tense muscles.

"Nightmare," She said eventually, shaking her head. "I don't have them much anymore." She rubbed her eyes, looking so tired and defeated. _Defeated_ was unlike her, showing her cards to someone wasn't her strong suit. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms, tell her whatever was eating up at her would disappear eventually. Granted...she'd probably smack him if he did.

"Wanna talk about it?" He asked, careful. He didn't want to push her, knew firsthand how frustrating it was for someone to push for answers when you didn't want to give them, when your mind was too dark a place to invite anyone in.

"Not really," She muttered, and sat in silence for a few seconds, arms resting over her knees as she drew them towards her chest.

He nodded, standing and turning to leave her be so she could think, but then she spoke, quietly, her voice low.

"After Islamabad, I keep dreaming that you die somehow."

She wasn't looking at him, staring at her hands, deep in thought. He paused, turned to face her, surprised. Of all of the thing he'd think she would have nightmares about, it certainly wasn't _himself_.

"I know, right?" She murmured, noting the disbelief on his face, "Of all the shit that's happened, that's what I dream about. But you leaving for Syria didn't help it."

She looked straight at him, then, eyes drilling into his with vulnerability mixed with her trademark burning anger. The way she could feel every emotion at once amazed him. She wasn't afraid to tell him. Something he always found himself jealous of, if she wanted to say something, she said it. If she was feeling something, everyone knew.

"That's what you dreamt tonight?" He didn't come closer, though she kept staring at him like she was waiting for him to do so. He was too....frozen. 

"Yeah. You got stabbed in the back instead of Fara... Haqqani didn't even move, he just stood there, staring at me. Smiling..." Her eyes narrowed as she stared into the distance, face darkening as she recalled the dream. 

"Fuck." 

"And then...Then dad dies and I'm just surrounded by all these....by all this fucking _death_ , all these bodies piling up around me and I can't....God..." She sucked in a long, painful breath, burrowing her face in her hands with another angry groan. 

She didn't give him a moment to comfort her, though, her head snapped up with an expression of morose amusement, giving a bitter laugh through lightly teary eyes, "And it's what we signed up for, isn't it? How am I supposed to be a mother if I can't even shake this? If she wakes up to me screaming in the middle of the night, waving a fucking _gun_ around or some shit like that?" Her eyebrows were scrunched together in that way that she had, her whole face written with disdain. For herself, maybe, for her past.

She blew a quieter breath, shaking her head, "I don't even know why I just told you that...I'm being way too fucking honest right now." The latter part was softer, almost like an admission to herself, not to him. 

Quinn felt like he was imposing on a private moment, like Carrie was just speaking her thoughts out loud, almost like she'd forgotten he was here or thought she was talking to a trusted friend.

Or maybe he was that to her. That wouldn't be so far fetched, would it?

He hoped he was a friend to her but most days he honestly wasn't sure what to classify them as. What do you call a person you'd easily take a bullet for in a heartbeat but wouldn't dare let them in on your darkest thoughts?

"What happened in Islamabad, it's not your fault. You know that, right?"

At the risk of sounding patronizing, Quinn figured it was worth a shot. There were so many things that needed to be said between the two of them, and eventually someone needed to be the one to start saying them. He couldn't wave a wand and make all of their dysfunctional problems and pasts disappear, but he could be there for her, the way he'd wished someone would have been there for him.

"That's a load of bullshit and we both know it." She looked annoyed, but she was listening, no longer trapped in her own world, so that was a start.

"You know how many people would still be alive today if not for me?" She asked, pushing herself back to sit against the headboard.

He tilted his head in question, and she continued, "Hundreds, probably. Not just counting Islamabad. Fara would still be here, John, Hensleigh, Aayan...Saul wouldn't have been captured...All of it." She shook her head, leaning her head back and staring at the ceiling. "Suck a fuckup."

"You thought you were doing the right thing, saving lives. And you did, in the end. What happened at the station, you couldn't have planned for that. Nobody did."

"Yeah, well I had a pretty fucking clear idea of what would happen to Aayan and I still went down that road. If not for that, the prisoners would have never been freed, the attack couldn't have happened." 

"Either way, Haqqani would have done something. He staged his death for that very purpose, so Aayan or no Aayan, the attack still happens." 

She rolled her head to the side to give him a dry frown, "Tell that to the president. He was more than happy to let me be the scapegoat for us breaking off diplomatic relations with Pakistan." 

"There's always someone, Carrie. You know as well as me. What happened to Sandy is a perfect example." He crossed his arms, walking closer, "You can't blame yourself, isn't that what you told me?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow. She shifted as he neared the bed, making room for him to sit, which he did, cross-legged in front of her. 

"Yeah, well you never seemed to listen," She retorted, prompting him to internally bang his head on a wall. She could _always_ find a way to miss the point, to point the conversation anywhere other than the real problem and back on someone else. 

"Fuck, Carrie, if you want to be a good mom, first you're gonna have to start believing in yourself a bit more," He let out before he could stop to rethink them. He was annoyed, annoyed that Carrie seemed to live in such self-hatred without ever actually doing something to change it, like she it was entirely out of her control.

"Oh, right, cause you know so much about being an a-plus parent, yourself," She snapped, and he sighed because he should've expected it. "Don't patronize me, Quinn."

"I'm not fucking patronizing you, Carrie, I'm saying you should wake the fuck up to the good you do. Months ago, you would've said you were doing _everything_ for the sake of protecting your country, right?" He gestured in question, Carrie stared at him, face giving nothing away. He continued, "Now you're saying that leaving your daughter, risking your life in a war-zone, _none of it_ was worth anything?" 

Carrie's eyes scanned his face, seemingly thinking it over, doubt clear on her face, but she was mulling it over, clearly wanting to challenge him. Eventually, the tiniest smirk crossed her face, amusement mixed with...fondness? In her eyes. Quinn felt strangely uncomfortable, this wasn't the reaction he was expecting. 

"What?" He didn't move, arms still crossed. She smiled a little more, then laughed, a short but surprising sound, before shaking her head at him. 

"When did you become such an expert at life?" She snarked, looking so amused Quinn wanted to roll his eyes. "Oh fuck you," He muttered. She outright grinned, tossing a pillow in his general direction and missing by an inch. 

"Consider me threatened." Quinn told her with a straight face, before cracking the tiniest smirk and tossing it back with perfect aim where it landed in her face. 

"You just _want_ to end up with another injury, don't you?" She challenged, but she was laughing, staring at him him like he was some strange mystery. 

"Unlikely," Quinn shrugged, slipping off the bed. He felt unsettled, like this was some suspended reality he wasn't supposed to be apart of, some other person's life he was just filling in for. 

Carrie watched him, biting her lip, not saying anything. He didn't notice, by the time he turned around to say goodnight, she gave a flat smile, shrugging, "Thanks...for the therapy."

Her tone was sarcastic but Quinn let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Anytime." 

It was quiet the rest of the night, and Quinn lay staring at the ceiling, wondering why it was that every time he seemed to get closer to Carrie, every time it seemed like they might actually meet in the middle and start to let their walls down a little, he felt the inescapable need to leave, to cut off ties and start over, before he got in too deep. 

It was what he was used to, what he'd always known. But he hated it. He wanted Carrie, he wanted to be close to her, wanted to be in her life if that's what she wanted, if that's what all of this was about, the reason for her strange behavior the last few days, the reason for how torn up she was that he'd left.

But he didn't know _how_. How to be close to her, how to let those walls down and just be free, be able to let her in as much as he wanted her to let _him_ in. He thought it ironic, how he craved every bit of honesty and vulnerability she shared with him yet he froze up into a block of ice whenever there was a chance that he might have to do the same. 

He'd tried, a couple of times, to let her in. To share things he wouldn't normally tell anyone else. And she's shut him out, hard. Maybe she felt the same as him, that letting anyone in was too dangerous, couldn't be risked in this life they lived. He remembered the last person he'd truly let in, the last time he'd fully loved someone. 

____________________________________________________________________

_It's November, and they've just spent the best six months together of his entire life. She's an angel, a fiery, fiesty one at that. She pushes him in all the right ways, gets under his skin like only she can, but he does the same for her, and they both surrender in time, unwittingly admitting their defeat._

_Because they want to. Because they can._

_Because it was before everything changed and they put up walls so thick it took an atomic bomb to bring them down, destroying every sign of life along with it._

_But for this moment, right here, right now, she's tucked against his chest, hand over his heart, eyes closed and breathing soft, dark hair falling over her impossibly young face. He's standing there, arms around her, breathing her in, content, peaceful, the way she makes him feel._

_And she tenses, opens her eyes, he can tell she's about to say something. But she hesitates, and eventually he asks._

_"Jules?" Quiet but questioning. He knows her tells by now. This isn't something she wants to say. He waits, and eventually she shifts and looks up at him, not moving her hand, still braced against his chest._

_"You know how we said we wished it could last forever? This? Us?" She asked. He nodded._

_He remembered, it had been a night of wishing under starry nights, of carving out every inch of each other's skin, dreaming up stories for the parts of each others' lives that could only be guessed about._

_The parts they couldn't say. Though he had far more of those than she did._

_"Well...what if it could?" She asked, tender, voice as timid as a child, but her eyes shone strength. Like she could really mean it._

_He swallowed, hard, pulled back just the slightest. He knew it couldn't. It was a dream, yes. A fantasy, for sure. But there was no way. And the way she was looking at him right now said she wanted it to be true._

_"Jules...we can't..." He could see her unfailing stubbornness shining in the expression on her face. Unrelenting, she didn't budge a bit at his objection. "Really, Julia..." He took her face in his hands, soft, but firm, trying to let her know, to get her to understand._

_His hands on either side of her face, she shook her head, eyes still wide and imploring, straight into his own, the tiniest of smiles hinting on her lips, a smile of hope._

_"I'm pregnant, John," She breathed it like a miracle. Like a promise. Like they'd just proposed their lives to each other and forever was a magical fairytale waiting to happen._

_He could've thrown up. He might've been seeing stars. All at once she was repeating his name, worry etched in her brows, in those helplessly wide eyes of hers, dark and entreating._

_He couldn't answer, around a thick, heavy tongue. His mouth was dry, he couldn't make sense of it. He wanted to reassure her, but in reality, nothing was actually fine. It wasn't going to be okay._

_He could die. Any day, any mission, he could die. Which, by extension, meant she could die, if she ever got caught up in the shit that his life brought. And now, it meant, their child could die, too._

_How could he have been so stupid? Thinking this little escape from reality was anything other than dangerous, reckless. He would responsible for the lives of two other, innocent civilians. Just because he'd allowed himself the luxury of loving someone and being loved back._

_She wasn't of his world. She knew a gritty world herself, but it wasn't anything near his own. She didn't know the half of what he did, only that it was dangerous. And secretive. And it fucked him up worse than he could ever explain to her or anyone else, but it was also necessary. She called him a soldier, which he was, but so much more than that. And so much worse. But it was enough for what they'd had._

_Until now._

_She couldn't have a family with him. He couldn't be a father. Every good thing in his life until now had ended in ruins and this wouldn't be any different. Even if he left his past behind and started a new, clean life with this woman who'd wrecked his whole world with her brilliance, one day it would catch up with him, and either he'd pay the price, or someone he loved dearly would end up paying it instead._

_His debts would catch up with him someday, and he needed to be alone when it happened. No collateral damage to be inflicted on anyone else._

_So in the end, he told her. Over time, in bits and pieces, leaving out most of the specifics. And she cried, and he tried not to cry. And they grew apart, though still together, because he couldn't leave her while she was so vulnerable, growing a precious new life inside her, soon to be alone._

_It killed him worse than all the pain he'd felt in his life leading up to now. He thought he'd felt pain, but he was wrong. This was unlike anything he'd experienced in his life._

_His child._

_HIS child._

_And he couldn't even hold it. Couldn't even hear it's first words or watch it take it first step. He was abandoning his own child the same way he'd been abandoned. And he'd sworn he'd never do it, but part of him had never actually thought he'd be in the position to have on in the first place. Especially after the path his life had taken in the last five years._

_He'd let his child down before it was even born. And he was letting down the only woman he'd allowed in long enough to truly love._

_Finally, she understood. Even came to terms with it, smart woman that she was. She began seeing the truth in his reasoning, and as her due date came closer, and her maternal instincts grew stronger, she couldn't even fathom the thought of allowing him to be in danger because of his dad._

_But there were still days when she cried. And he held her, until he couldn't. Because, she told him, she'd need to learn to get over it alone._

_And that killed him again, just as painful as the first time._

_So one summer night, eight months later, due date approaching faster than either of them cared to admit, they were in the nursery. Because that was a thing they had now, in the apartment that they'd shared for six perfect months and then eight nerve-wracking ones._

_Julia sat on the floor, giant belly blocking her range of motion, floor in front of her covered by pieces of furniture and an immensely large instruction manual for the crib they'd just now bought. They'd been putting it off. The last thing to do to make a home for the baby._

_She was hot and sweaty, annoyed and hungry. John had left to get Chinese food and she could hear that he was finally back, door closing in the front, bags rustling, keys jangling._

_The sounds of home._

_Of having someone to have a home with._

_She realized it'd be gone, before she could even register it._

_It was always hitting her anew, this realization. She's grown so accustomed to John's pretense, with or without this strained, painful knowledge between them, that she didn't know how to let it go. She kept telling herself that she did, but she knew it was a lie. \_

_S he'd stopped letting him hold her, only occasionally let him hug her when she was really achy and tired. She wouldn't dare admit to him that she craved his touch like her life depended on it, and sometimes she cried herself to sleep after she told him he needed to sleep on the sofa so she could 'get used to sleeping alone'._

_But for now, she heard his footsteps bringing her food. Light and quiet as always, she smiled because it was part of what made John, John. Part of his work, his training, his upbringing, the things that him, himself._

_But it hurt because she knew, the next guy wouldn't do those things. He wouldn't be able to sneak up on her in complete silence and surprise her with a kiss on the neck, wouldn't somehow know how to scale the side of an apartment complex when she locked herself out. Wouldn't be able to fight off three guys in a bar fight over a sassy remark she'd made to them._

_She could hold her own. She was a strong woman, stronger than many, with a life that had taught her a thing or two about surviving alone. She was hardly a damsel in distress, certainly never a helpless maiden. But something about him made her want to need him. He was the one man she allowed herself to lean on. Maybe because she knew, he knew how hard it was. And because he'd done her the honor of leaning on her a few times, too._

_But here they sat, surrounded by crib pieces, eating Chinese takeout on the floor of their nearly-finished nursery. And they were both silent because they knew only one of them would be around to see it filled. And it would be incomplete._

_They'd functioned so well together, like two halves in perfect sync. Partners, practically, without having to explain too much, when they spoke it was a curtesy, not a necessity to understand each other. Even here and now, they could still understand the other without words._

_"You know I already have a name..." She started, twirling her fork in a container of lo mein. He glanced over, blue eyes sharp, bright as always, studying her face. He chewed and swallowed before answering, clearly uncertain of whether this conversation was a bad idea or not. They were both far too deep in this to let go painlessly, but it didn't hurt to try._

_"What is it?" He asked, finally._

_She studied his face a little longer, eyes taking in every inch of it, his eyes, the way his hair was somehow always a little bit messy no matter what the situation, the set of his jaw, the tiny little glimmer of a smile he had when he was happy, the few times when she actually heard him laugh. All of it wrapped up in this man she knew so well yet so little._

_He was hers, but he was also no one's. She couldn't claim him anymore than anyone else in his world had already tried to. It was like he was slipping out of her grasp, through her fingers, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it but watch._

_"John. John Jr." S_ _he watched his face as he took it in._

_He let out a strained huff of surprise, that could've been mistaken for a laugh but it sounded more like pain. She hoped it was the right decision to make, but she also knew she'd thought enough about it that it didn't really matter. She wanted that name for him, her son, so she could always have a memory of his dad, so her little boy could grow up with a namesake that he'd never really know, but maybe it would help shape him into a man like his father._

_The parts of his father that she knew, anyway. The wonderful parts. The parts she fell in love with and admired._

_John would keep living on, even when he was gone, and she had to move on to new things, eventually to a new man. She'd keep John in her memory, though...always._

_"Will he know?" John asked her. She knew what he was asking....Will he know about me?_

_She sighed, wishing it could be simpler. That they could just stay a family and leave everything else behind. That her little John Jr. could know his dad, and love him as much as she did, and they could have it all because they had each other._

_But she hadn't even fully processed her new future without this man, much less how to tell her son about him. A father that never got his chance, and maybe never would, no matter how badly he wanted it._

_"Maybe someday," She relented. And it felt true in the moment, because she owed her son the truth, but not anytime soon. Maybe not for a long time. But someday._

________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did ya'll think of the inclusion of Quinn's past with Julia in this chapter? I've had it as a draft for a while, trying to find a way to incorporate it. I think there's so much beauty in imagining Quinn and Julia's relationship, but losing her and his son must've scarred him pretty damn badly, and probably played a part in his fear of getting too close to people. I think he loved Carrie from afar because it was a helluva lot safer. 
> 
> Also, I'm going to be sharing some lyrics from the aforementioned song on my next few chapters, because I don't lie when I say that song is amazing and fits C/Q and this fic SO WELL. 
> 
> Can't wait to hear from ya'll, my lovely readers!!! *hugs*


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